


Flashing Lights

by wtfrenchtoast



Category: The Town (2010)
Genre: Age Difference, Blowjobs, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Underage Drinking, minor mention of drug use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2013-05-23
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:02:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wtfrenchtoast/pseuds/wtfrenchtoast
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let me tell you somethin’, kid. I can count on one hand the number of honorable things I done in my life, and leavin’ you alone was one of ‘em.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Raunchy and porny but there is some plot, so if that's not your cup of tea you've been fairly warned ;)
> 
> Song in the banner is from Rihanna. Obvi.

 

It’s the first real scorcher of the summer, and it’s not even Fourth of July yet. Erin Connelly wraps her fingers around the bottle of Labatt she’s nursing and holds it against her forehead, trying to get some relief.

 

The humidity, so thick she could slice through it, only made things worse.

 

She’s seated at a picnic table in Doug Macray’s backyard, attending the first of the season’s many cookouts that he hosts. Although the focus seems to be more on the beverage aspect than any food.

 

She watches as a handle of Jameson is passed around and long swigs taken straight from the bottle. Erin could stand beer, had trained herself to ignore the bitter taste but couldn’t bring herself to go near whiskey. When she’s offered a taste by one of Doug’s buddies, she can’t turn it down fast enough.

 

She lets a heavy sigh seep from her lips, and slouched against the vinyl siding of the house. Her mind wanders to only the summer before, when she was eighteen and packing up for college. She’d sat in the very same spot, still too young to be taken seriously by anyone, and couldn’t imagine living anywhere but a block down from the people she’d known her whole life.

 

A year later, she’s surprised at how uncomfortable she feels. After spending her freshman year surrounded by more types of people than she’d ever knew existed, Charlestown seems be less like home and more like yet another place where she can feel out of her element.

 

Across the small yard, her eyes land on her big brother, Ryan. He’s chatting up a busty brunette with a tramp stamp the size of Montana across her lower back. Something tribal and abstract and straight out of the sample book at one of the many tattoo parlors nearby.

 

It took spending two semesters outside of the Town to realize that not every female over the age of fifteen had the infamous ink; and if they did, it usually wasn't an indication of upper-crust background. If nothing else, college had been an expensive eye-opener.

 

She'd endured relentless ribbing at her choice of higher education institutions - not only had she ventured outside of the greater Boston area, she'd chosen New York, of all places. And Westchester County, to grind more salt in the wound. With a hefty financial aid package paving the way, Erin's classmates at Sarah Lawrence treated her somewhat like a curiosity. Had she ever been mugged? Does she have any friends in jail? She, in turn, was equally as flabbergasted by the idea of having multiple homes, depending on the time of year. And not as a result of a custody order.

 

She knows virtually everyone at the party, if it could be called such. They all grew up within yards of each other. Becky and Katie McHenry, the twins only a few years older than her who already had five kids between the two of them. Danny Eldridge, who just got out of lockup for a botched B&E. Her brother's buddies, Doug and Gloansy and Des. And Jem.

 

Jem Coughlin stands at the end of the wooden picnic table, beer in hand and laughing over something with Doug. Erin tries to casually glance his direction and not let her eyes linger on him for longer than she should; but as always, she can't help herself. The white t-shirt he wore stretched deliciously over his sizable chest and arms, the Puma logo never looked so good. He's got those sunglasses perched on his head and a gold Celtic cross hanging around his neck. His blue eyes crinkle as he joins in on a joke that Dougie's made, and Erin likes how much younger he looks when he laughs.

 

It makes no sense to pine over someone like Jem for any length of time, let alone the entirety of her adolescent life. He's opportunistic, ruthless, and faithful to only three things: money, drugs and his boys. As far as she can tell, those priorities weren't likely to change anytime soon.

 

Erin brings the bottle to her lips as she tries to gather her thoughts away from Jem. He was robbing banks back when she was in kindergarten, and she'd felt guilty when she missed her alarm and slept through her eight-thirty anthropology class.

 

She tips the bottle back and realizes that it's empty. She rises and circles the table to where the cooler sits, right next to Jem, to fetch another. Before she can lift the lid, a deep voice with that smug, unmistakable townie accent chimes in from behind her. "Well, well. Look what a year in New York can do. What you majoring in down there, modeling?"

 

Erin whips around to confront her interloper and the corny pick-up. It's Tommy, Desmond's baby brother, who used to be skinny, pimply and awkward, and after eighteen months of the fast life learning from Des, he looks like a different person. Muscle and a self-assurance that is in stark contrast to the boy she once frequented playgrounds with causes her to stumble over her words. She's struck by a pang of sadness, but she can't put her finger on why. "H-hey."

 

"Hey yourself. Can I get ya another?" He nods to the empty in her hand, eyeing her appreciatively.

 

"Um, sure. Thanks." She accepts the cold Molson from him and takes a long gulp. "How've you been?"

 

"Can't complain. You, on the other hand. Surprised you allowed in the city limits, bein' a turncoat and all." He winks at her as he tilts his beer back.

 

Erin rolls her eyes good-naturedly. "Hardly. If anybody wondered where I was from, I'd open my mouth and the accent'd give me away every time."

 

Tommy grins. "Damn right. You look better in red, if you ask me."

 

Suddenly, a strong hand claps on Tommy's shoulder, fingers digging painfully into the younger man's collarbone. "Tommy, my man. Ry know you're trying to get in his sister's pants? I don't think he does. 'Cause if he did, he'd be over here, right now, beatin' your ass into next week."

 

It's Jem. His voice is icy and no-shitting-around, and Tommy pales visibly. Erin freezes.

 

"Yeah, whatever. Just sayin' hi. See you around," Tommy mumbles. He doesn't make eye contact as he ducks away, heading for the front of the house.

 

Erin is not amused. The only person who's bothered to talk to her the whole time she's been here just got chased away, and since Jem's obviously not going to take his place, she's back to being bored and lonely. "Hey," she snaps in annoyance. "I don’t need a fucking babysitter."

 

But he’s already got his back to her, jumps right into his previous conversation without missing a beat. It’s another notch in her and Jem’s long but sparse history of snippy exchanges.

 

She glances down at her hands – am I invisible?

 

She could leave. Ryan would probably spend the night here anyway, passed out in someone’s bedroom or living room or hopefully, at least indoors. There was nothing keeping her here.

 

“Erin! Hey, can you keep an eye on Cayden for a minute? I’m gonna make another beer run.” A squirmy toddler is deposited into her lap by Katie McHenry, and before she can protest his mother’s already in the driveway, keys in hand.

 

With a heavy internal sigh, she starts playing patty-cake with the giggly, grubby-faced boy. Not invisible. Just unnoticeable.

 

*          *          *

 

It’s well after ten when Erin drags herself into Jem and Doug’s house, ears ringing. She’d spent the remainder of the evening caring for the little ones as their parents became too intoxicated to supervise them. She didn’t mind, not entirely. At least the kids gave her the time of day.

 

The kitchen’s littered with empties and pizza boxes. Somehow she manages to locate a clean cup and fills it from the tap. As she gulps it down, cold and refreshing, a low murmur from the next room catches her attention.

 

Hopefully it’s Ryan, and she can get his keys and drive herself home. It’s only a few blocks but even a native townie shouldn’t be walking around alone after sundown.

 

She peers in. It’s not Ryan.

 

Jem glares at her as she hovers awkwardly in the doorway for a few seconds too long. “You need somethin’?” he asks pointedly over his shoulder. The sickly blue glow from the television seems to draw out the shadows on his face.

 

She knows what’s in the tiny glass vial he’s rolling between his fingertips. He’s waiting for her to make herself scarce so he can get down to business. From the impatient way he’s tapping his foot against the worn hardwood, he doesn’t appreciate the delay.

 

Her mind is telling her to go home and put an end to this excruciating day. To keep their lives on the diverging path they have always traveled. What plants her to that spot she cannot put into words, except that the pull she feels towards Jem is stronger than ever.

 

“What…what are you doing?” she asks timidly. Mentally she smacks herself. What does it look like he’s doing, moron?

 

“None of your goddamn business,” he snaps heatedly. “Now get the fuck out. Playtime’s over. Get your Barbies and go, little girl.” He settles back into the worn armchair and taps the ash from his cigarette into the glass tray beside him.

 

Never mind that Erin’s had a crush on Jem since she was old enough to know what a crush was. Or that she’d worn her cutest, trendiest outfit in hopes that he’d notice her and he hadn’t so much as spared her a second glance. His constant cracks at her age, his condescending attitude, it was all wearing pretty thin and she was sick of it.

 

Incensed, she marches through the dim room, lit only by the blue cast of the television, and stops abruptly in front of Jem. He glances at her dubiously.

 

“Fuck you,” she spits. “You think you’re so high and mighty ‘cause you snort blow and hold up a 7-11 once in a while! Congratulations, you’re a fucking lowlife and you’re badass and whatever. Great. But I can pass a cop on the street and make eye contact. Half my friends aren't in lockup and I've never had to negotiate a fucking plea agreement! Maybe I am a kid, but I'm a kid who's better than you.”

 

Silence.

 

Erin stares into Jem’s cold blue eyes, a battle of wills between them. There’s an icy rage building in his gaze that nearly stops her heart in its tracks, and she begins to wonder if provoking his infamous temper was a good idea after all. Still, she refuses to back down. It wasn’t often that someone dared to challenge Jem Coughlin, and crush or no, she wasn’t going to be bullied like everyone else.

 

The veins in his sizable forearms bulge and pulse; there’s a tightening in his jaw that belies the bottled wrath that he’s holding back. Erin begins to sense the very real possibility that he may hurt her, and the courage incited by her anger wavers.

 

The tension grows and grows until she’s convinced Jem’s just gonna haul off and smash her across the face. At the last second, his face breaks into a wicked smirk and he takes a long drag off his cig. “Kitty’s got claws,” he remarks, voice dripping with amusement. “Didn’t think you even knew all those naughty words, princess. They teach you that at your Ivy League?”

 

She’s stunned, and can only mutter stupidly, “It’s not Ivy League.” She’s dimly aware that despite her outburst he’s continuing to mock her, but the fight in her has banked somewhat and she can’t muster a rebuttal.

 

“Whatever. All the same to me. Rich motherfuckers with big brains and no street smarts. I'd rob 'em all blind if I had the time, just to prove my point.”

 

Erin has no reply to that, and fidgets uncomfortably before years of longing and curiosity get the better of her and she blurts, “Do you hate me?” She has to know.

 

This catches Jem off guard. “Do I hate you?” he echoes. "Nah. You got a lot to learn, little girl. Hate is reserved for a select few, and trust me, if you were one of 'em, you'd know it." Another long pull off his Marlboro Red. "Don't mean I like you either. You're an annoying little shit who can't keep her nose where it belong."

 

"And where does my nose belong, exactly?" she counters.

 

"Far the fuck away from here," he answers without hesitation. Erin recoils, unable to disguise the sting of his words on her. She’d known him her whole life. Everything else aside, didn’t that count for something?

 

Jem scrubs a tired hand over his scruffy face. "Jesus fuckin' Christ," he mutters, the irritation barely veiled. "That ain't what I meant, you're takin' it all wrong."

 

"No, I get it," she cuts in bitterly. "I get it just fine. I'm not stupid."

 

The force with which he slams his fist on the ancient end table next to him startles her so much she nearly stumbles backward. "That's my whole point! God, you ain't fuckin' dumb but you sure are dense." He drums his fingers against his thigh as he weighs his next words carefully, and when he speaks next it's uncharacteristically soft. "You ain't like us. Me, Dougie, your own brother. You’re smart, and not just book-smart, you got some sense in your head.” She can’t believe what she’s hearing. It’s more than she’s ever dared hope for, but the solemn tone of his voice dampens her elation.

 

“You got a chance to do somethin' better with your life than push dope and pop out kids you don't want. You know what that's worth? To have a choice like that? I might as well been born with a Beretta in my hand. Nowhere else I coulda gone but down this road.”

 

Stubbornly Erin folded her arms and murmured, "You seem to get along just fine." In her mind's eye, she sees her brother stumble in the front door, blackout drunk and hopped up on speed, dusted in body glitter with the stink of titty bar all over him. He'd woken up with a wicked hangover each and every morning after but it never stopped him from going back, not once.

 

Jem eyes her coldly, the smile he gives her tells her he knows exactly what she's thinking of. "Never said there ain't benefits." He shifts in the worn armchair, resting his head against the faded upholstery. "It's too late for me. Too late for all the guys I run with, your brother included. I boosted my first car when I was thirteen, stabbed a guy six months after that. Before you were even born I was knee-deep in this shit. You get where I'm going here?"

 

Erin nods numbly as he continues. "You got a chance, kiddo. That's a hell of a lot more than most of us ever did. And the only way you gonna hold onto that is keep doing what you been doing. And staying the fuck away from shit that's gonna hold you back."

 

Her heart sinks, and the elation she felt a moment ago vanishes. She hears what he's not saying - away from him. Away from Charlestown, really, but right now it makes no difference.

 

"You're right, kid. You are better than me." His voice is flat.

 

Erin feels dizzy. It's like the world split open and she’s staring down into the abyss. She wants to speak but can't dredge up a word to save her life.

 

She can't argue with him. He's right, in his own roundabout underhanded way. She paid attention in school and got accepted to college, and if she continued down that path she'd be twice as successful as ninety percent of the people she grew up with.

 

"You understand? I'm thirty-four years old, I ain't gonna change. I made my choices a long time ago."

 

"It doesn't have to be like that," she offered quietly. She believed it, though she didn't know why. Did it really matter?

 

"Fuck that. This is my life. Get it through your head, kid."

 

Again with the endearments, if they could be called such. Erin, growing bolder, perches on the end table where Jem's ashtray resides. "Am I a child to you?”

 

The line she walks is fine, and dangerous. In Charlestown, the only girls who are regularly noticed are the ones letting any guy in reach snort coke off their cleavage and wake up in beds not their own. She's far from that sort. Her clothes are fashionable but not provocative and her makeup is understated. No big attitude to make up for it, either. Next to the loud-mouthed, party-girl bombshells she grew up with, she's barely on the radar.

 

But tonight something is different. It's not the extra coat of mascara or the quarter-inch lower that her neckline shows off. It's escaped her all night, but at that moment when they're inches apart she hones in on it. He doesn’t look her in the eye. He focuses on the ceiling, the floor, the window behind her...

 

Anywhere but her. Something sparks inside her, rousing a kernel of hope that despite herself, she lets unfurl.

 

Her heart races.

 

"What the fuck you want from me?" Jem asks, finally, the resignation seeping into his gravelly voice.

 

"You didn't answer my question.”

 

He says nothing, just stares into the television screen like it's the Oracle at Delphi.

 

With a heavy sigh, he finally shifts and turns his body towards her. Like it physically pains him, he turns that fire-branding gaze on her. "You don't need to get mixed up with me." He's so weary, it nearly moves her to tears.

 

She knows now. Why he dismisses her, brushes her off, avoids her like the black fucking plague. He’s showed his hand, and it’s covered in blood.

 

Jem's eyes travel down, from her youthful, pretty face to where her top hugs her slender body, and down further, to a pair of long, smooth legs. She knows what she looks like, although she doesn’t flaunt it. She feels a thrill ripple through her as she watches him take her in, like he’s seeing her for the first time. All the ways that the gentle curves of her body please his eyes. She can tell he’s never allowed himself to indulge in her before, even from a distance.

 

Heart pounding, she stands, her hips at his eye level.

 

Erin steps evenly over his knees until she looms over him, straddling his thighs. His eyes rove over her freely now, unable to mask the lust that’s building. She's screaming inside. Her body's already reacting to his - between her legs she feels hypersensitive, achy, and a growing dampness that's getting harder and harder to ignore.

 

Trepidation clouds his handsome face. "Don't. I ain't the good guy here. I already tried to tell you that."

 

"I heard you." She lifts one knee and rests it against the arm cushion of the chair, snug against his thigh.

 

Slowly, she draws her other knee up and settles onto Jem’s lap. Beneath her shorts and his jeans, she can feel him, hard and thick. For one wild moment she wonders what he’d feel like inside her and has to bite back a moan at the thought. “Maybe I don’t want you to be the good guy. Maybe I just want you to be you.”

 

His blue eyes are blazing as she takes his hand and brings it to her breast. His lips fall open and a slow, hissing breath escapes as he cups it, runs his thumb over her nipple. She arches into his touch.

 

“You really into this? Or you just feel like slummin’ and you got some silver-spoon frat boy waiting for you back at Harvard?”

 

It’s a bitter attempt at a joke, and it’s not lost on Erin. She spreads her knees further so she’s flush against his muscled chest. “I want you,” she says meaningfully. “And for the record, I don’t have a boyfriend.”

 

“I know,” Jem agrees quietly. She isn’t that kind of girl and they both know that. He brings both hands to her slender waist, where it nips in. “Shit. You think I didn’t notice you turning into a fuckin’ knockout? I had to beat some sense into more than a few assholes who wanted in your pants. This fuckin’ body…”

 

She feels like her blood’s laced with lighter fluid and he’s the match. She leans in close, her lips against his ear. “I want you,” she repeats huskily. “Please. I touch myself every night wishing it was you.” With that, she crosses her arms over her belly as she grabs the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head.

 

Jem groans. The simple, pale pink bra she’s wearing compliments the beginnings of a summer tan evident on her skin. He grabs her hips and crushes her to him. “Fuck. Your tits are amazing.” He dips his head to run his tongue over the swells, repeating the motion over and over as she whimpers in pleasure. She grinds herself into his lap, desperate for contact.

 

His hand travels down along her flat belly to where the button of her shorts sits. With one easy flick of his wrist, her fly is down and he’s snaking his fingers down into her panties. Her breath hitches as he slips one between her slick lips. “So fucking wet,” he breathes. “Wet for me? For what you want me to do to you?”

 

“God, yes,” she pants. He adds another finger and circles her clit. She starts rubbing herself against his hand like she was a dog in heat, moaning and desperate.

 

“So young. Bet you’re fuckin’ tight.” His eyes suddenly narrow, even as he continues to pleasure her. "You done this before? Been fucked?” 

 

Erin’s lust-addled gaze fixates fuzzily on his face. “What?”

 

“Don’t tell me you’re a fuckin’ virgin.”

 

She shakes her head. “No, no. Um…a couple times. There was a guy at school,” she admits sheepishly. She doesn’t know how much to disclose, so she sticks to the bare minimum.

 

Jem processes this for a moment. “Maybe he got there first but when I’m done with you, you ain't even gonna remember his name." That smirk. Now that the raw need has taken over, he's back to the Jem that Erin's used to, cocky and arrogant and hot as fuck.

 

His fingers are magic and she lets out a husky moan as he pushes her closer and closer to the edge. His other hand trails up her back and to the clasp of her bra, which falls helplessly to the floor. Bared to him, she's suddenly self-conscious and tries to wrap her arms around her chest.

 

"No," he orders sternly. "Don't you fuckin' dare." She drops her arms slowly back down, and encouraged by the way he's hungrily roving his eyes over her, she arches backward until her hands are clutching his knees. Her breasts jut out from her body deliciously.

 

The rumble from his throat is all the confirmation she needs. "Look at that," he murmurs. "You are all grown up, ain't ya?"

 

Erin rolls her hips forward and at the same time he slides one drenched finger inside her. She cries out as he slowly pumps her, and then adds a second one inside. His thumb, thick and calloused, continues its assault on her clit. The orgasm that rips through her young body is so intense she nearly blacks out from the pleasure. She rides it out, beyond caring what she looks like or even what Jem's thinking. It feels too good and she's waited too long for this.

 

When the sensations finally fade and she comes back down to earth, she seeks out his face and smiles tiredly. "Hottest fuckin' thing I ever seen." he breathes. He slides his hand out of her shorts and grips her hips hard, stands her on two shaky feet. "Take 'em off," he commands. "Slow."

 

Erin is only too happy to comply. She turns so her back is facing him and with one torturous wiggle of her hips at a time, works the pair of white shorts down her long legs. As they slide over her knees and calves she bends over, giving him a full show of her ass and the outline of her wet center through her flimsy panties.

 

"Fuck," she hears from behind her. "That's beautiful. You got a perfect little package, you know that?"

 

Erin smiles to herself. She feels powerful, that she has this hurricane of a man so enthralled. Tantalizingly slow, she stands and spins so she's facing him once again.

 

"When I said take it off, I meant all of it. Don't get shy on me now."

 

"Oh, I don't intend to," she settles one knee on either side of his hips. "I just thought you'd like to do the honors."

 

The panties are pink and edged with lace. Jem's eyes grow dark, pupils wide with the black abyss that she stands at the precipice of. He runs his hands up along her thighs, drags his fingertips along her cool skin. She's lit from within, wound so tight she feels like she'll snap any second.

 

Without warning her panties are ripped from her body, the thin cotton easily giving way in Jem's iron grip, and she's bare before him. Resisting the urge to cover herself, she bites her bottom lip in anticipation.

 

Jem crushes her slender body against his, attacking her mouth with a fervor she hadn't seen before. His tongue slips between her waiting lips, invading her, and she can't get enough. Her clit drags along the fly of his jeans, harsh but exactly the pressure she needs.

 

Suddenly she feels herself lift up, Jem's muscled arms carrying her like she was weightless, and tosses her carelessly onto the couch nearby. She pushes herself up on her elbows as she avidly watches him yank his black t-shirt over his head and drop it on the floor. Her mouth goes dry.

 

He's a fucking masterpiece. All hard muscle and tatts and pure, raw power. The belt and jeans are next, and as they are cast aside she finds herself growing impossibly wetter. When his boxers drop, though, her blood turns to ice.

 

He's huge. Like, fucking monster huge. She isn't going to be able to fit her hand around it, let alone let him get it inside her. He'll tear her in half.

 

"Relax," Jem says, sensing her trepidation. He wraps one strong hand around himself and pumps a couple of times. "We'll start ya off easy. Get over here and get on your knees." He settles back onto the couch, completely at ease with the fact that he’s totally naked, save for that gold Celtic cross around his neck. 

 

Easy? Erin wonders anxiously. She doesn't want to disappoint. His legs are splayed wide, and she kneels before him. She can't take her eyes off his cock and the shiny bead of pre-cum that's on the tip.

 

"I-I don't really know what I'm doing," she admits. 

 

"This your first time sucking a dick?" Jem could never be accused of mincing words.

 

“Um…sort of. It was only one time, and…I don’t think it was…y’know, good.”

 

A slow smile turns up one corner of his mouth. “Don’t worry, princess. I’ll take care of ya.” Rough fingers twine through her hair and rest at the back of her head. She wraps her hand around his cock and brings the tip to meet her lips. Carefully, she slides her lips over the head, eyes upturned to watch his reaction.

 

“Good girl. Little more, open up those pretty lips. Atta girl.” She takes him deeper, struggling a little with his thickness. “That’s it.” His hips thrust up slightly, and she takes that as a good sign.

 

Erin draws him in as far as she can go, until he hits the back of her throat. Then she moves her head backward, drawing a ragged groan from Jem. A few strokes in, she runs the flat of her tongue around the head and he swears so loud she is sure he’d wake her brother.

 

Her brother. The thought makes her skin crawl. What would Ryan think of Jem, who's got fifteen years of blood and fistfights and bullets on her, having his dick down her throat? He'd probably try to kill him. And then all kinds of hell would break loose.

 

She shoves the thought away as Jem coaches her into a rhythm and although her jaw is beginning to ache, she loves the grunts and curses that fall from his lips. It's intoxicating, and she slips one hand between her legs to relieve some of the tension that's building there.

 

He notices. "You touchin' yourself down there? You love sucking my cock so much you get off on it? I was wrong about you, princess. You really are a dirty little girl." His voice is hoarse with lust.

 

Erin moans in response, the sound muffled around his thickness. The tightening in her lower belly winds up as the pleasure reaches a peak, and suddenly she's crying out, pulsing around her fingers as she shatters hard.

 

Through the heady fog she manages to make eye contact with Jem. He stares down at her, wide-eyed, as she comes hard with her pretty pink lips wrapped around his cock. It's fucking hot as hell, sexy and filthy and he's blown away. Pun intended.

 

His breathing stutters as he tightens his grip on her hair. "Gonna come, baby, you ready?"

 

She nods and works him harder, and when he swears and spurts into her mouth she drinks him down. He pumps into her, ragged moans gasping out of him, hips bucking up, but she keeps her lips firmly wrapped around him and swallows every drop. "Holy shit," he pants. "You...you did just fine, baby. That mighta been the best blowjob I ever got."

 

Erin licks her lips. In reality, she hadn't known what to do, if he'd be pissed if she'd jerked him through his release instead, so she'd just kept on going. The taste wasn't pleasant but judging by the blissed-out look on his face, it was worth it.

 

She smiles shyly and wipes her mouth. Awkwardly and very very aware of her nakedness, she scurries to the kitchen for a glass of water.

 

As she leans back against the sink, the cold Formica digging into her lower back, the reality of what she'd done begins to dawn on her. She's a fool, she realizes. Just like every other whore he's charmed with rugged good looks and a cocky attitude, she was all too happy to get on her knees and suck his dick like he's doing her a fucking favor. She's no better than some coked-out bar slut for him to get his rocks off with, and now he'll toss her aside like a piece of trash. The shame washes over her like a bucket of ice water.

 

She begins to tremble as she takes tiny sips from the glass. From her place in the kitchen, she can see Jem, who's on his feet and tugging his jeans over his hips. Even through her humiliation she still can't help but admire the rippling muscles of his back as he pulls his t-shirt on. Idiot, she admonishes herself.

 

When she's finished, she sets the empty cup in the sink and walks quickly back into the living room to gather her clothes. She dresses hurriedly, keeping her eyes anywhere but on Jem. Her cheeks are burning and she hopes that it just looks like a byproduct of the steamy summer heat.

 

Could be worse, a nasty, evil voice in the back of her mind spits at her. At least you didn't fuck him.

 

But let’s call a spade a spade, shall we? He would have had you on your back, begging for his dick if you hadn't cut the party short.

 

The urge to vomit hits Erin hard. She needed to get the hell out of there. Thankfully, her phone and wallet are still in the pocket of her shorts, and she fishes them out. She checks for texts, sees nothing urgent, thankfully. She dares a glance upward and her stomach twists when she sees Jem staring unabashedly at her, hands in his pockets. Those blue eyes sear into her and she feels naked all over again. "You alright? Look like you saw a ghost or somethin'."

 

"No," she answers quickly. "I just...didn't realize how late it was. I should get home."

 

For a split second he studies her, then nods in agreement. "Yeah. Wouldn't want your brother to find ya here."

 

Erin’s heart sinks even further. That's the last thing she wants, for Ryan to stumble out and see her here. They're decent now, but alone together as it crept up on midnight? He'd put two and two together and it’d be bad news all around. "Um, right. I'll see ya." She turns, the sallow fluorescent light of the kitchen mirroring her dejection.

 

She’s nearly to the screen door when there’s a firm grip on her elbow, and Jem’s musky, soapy scent wafts over her shoulder. “Wait. I’ll walk you back. Ry would shit a brick if he knew I let you go alone in the middle of the night.” She swallows her surprise as he follows out her out onto the porch, waiting while he locks the door behind them.

 

It’s a silent, brisk five blocks to her parents’ driveway. Erin’s mind is surprisingly quiet and she lets the steady patter of their footsteps and the crickets’ chirps fill her ears instead.

 

There are no lights on at the house; her mom and dad probably called it a night after the ten o’clock news. Erin glances at the darkened windows and resolves not to draw this out. “Thanks,” she says quickly as she sorts through her keys. When he doesn’t reply she casts a rueful look his way, and she sighs. “Look. I’m not gonna ask you to take me to homecoming or anything, okay? I don’t expect-“

 

“Let me tell you somethin’, kid,” Jem interrupts, voice as stern and rough as unpolished stone. “I can count on one hand the number of honorable things I done in my life, and leavin’ you alone was one of ‘em.”

 

Erin recoils, his words like acid burning through her. “I’m sorry,” she bites off bitterly.

 

The next two seconds of her life are ones she will remember until she’s in her grave. Jem takes one slow, deliberate step toward her, until they’re inches apart, and takes her chin in one weathered hand. She feels like she’ll melt under the weight of his stare. “I’m not,” he says in a low, clear voice, and then he’s gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song from Florence + the Machine.

 // and I’m ready to suffer

and I’m ready to hope

it’s a shot in the dark

and right at my throat //

 

Hands jammed in his pockets, Jem is on a warpath down Greenwich Avenue. The urge to smash, to wreck, to burn off this nervous energy races through his mind and curls his rough hands into fists. The cool weight of the Glock .22 jammed against the small of his back was the only thing keeping him from losing his shit completely.

 

God help any unfortunate motherfucker who crossed his path tonight.

 

He bursts into his and Doug’s house, the rickety screen door creaking and rattling in protest. The handle of Jameson catches his eye from the kitchen counter. He downs five or six shots’ worth in a couple hard swallows.

 

The mostly empty bottle shatters hard against the wall opposite him, exploding in a shower of glass. The oaky scent of whiskey burns his nose. Dougie wouldn’t appreciate that shit, but fuck ‘im, the miserable self-righteous bastard.

 

He stands in the middle of the living room, breath coming in hard pants, heart racing. It only takes about thirty seconds for the warmth of the whiskey to settle him, and he gladly gives into the numbness. The armchair (that one, the one he sat on while she rode his hand and came on his fingers, that chair) accepts his weight with a groan as he drops down on it with a low whistle.

 

Shoulda walked away.

 

Jem shakes his head, a self-deprecating smirk on his face. All well and good to pretend like there was any chance he would’ve, sure, but that doesn’t make it less bullshit.

 

The TV’s still on, tuned to an old episode of _Quantum Leap_. As the bluish light flickers, something catches his eye on the end table. A small glass vial, forgotten. Its dusty white contents beckon to him.

 

He is not a good man. He repeats this to himself as he taps out a jagged line, cuts it into a clean slash and lets himself disappear.

 

*          *          *

 

Erin hurries down the stairs, cursing like a sailor. Slept a full hour past her alarm and she barely had time for a half-assed shower, followed by a full ten minutes searching for her phone. Not exactly what she was hoping for on the first day of her summer job, but she manages to leave the house in one piece.

 

Her parents’ aging Explorer gets her to the grocery store within thirty seconds of eight o’clock, and as the wall of icy air-conditioning hits her face she’s at least grateful to be out of the heat. She waits by the door for the assistant manager, who shows her briskly to her stomping grounds for the summer – the floral department. Tall buckets of fresh-cut carnations, pre-wrapped dozens of red roses and various combinations of wildflowers splash color through the whitewash of the store.

 

The hydrangeas are a brilliant shade of blue, and Erin arranges them carefully on the outskirts of the displays. They catch the eye of an elderly lady who fawns over them excitedly. “Molly!” the white-haired woman calls over her shoulder. “Aren’t these just the prettiest things you ever seen?”

 

“Just a second, Ma,” a middle-aged brunette replies from an aisle over. “The news is talkin’ about Harborview Credit Union. The one on Church Street? Rotten bastards broke the guard’s leg in three places. You believe that? Animals. Sorry world we live in today.”

 

Erin glances up at the small television that’s mounted over the sub counter and the tiny lunch area. The scrolling headline across the screen reads _Breaking News: Armed Robbery at Local Bank_ in bright red letters. The news anchor animatedly recounts the sparse details of the event: armored truck deliveryman critically assaulted by gunman, suspects wearing hockey masks, escaped with an undisclosed amount of cash. Police are asking for any tips to be called in immediately.

 

Erin stares at the grainy image of the robbers as a sinking feeling in her stomach grows. Hockey masks. She can’t place why it sticks with her. Every kid over the age of two in Boston probably owns one.

 

She steals another glimpse at the screen, and tells herself there's nothing familiar about the way the one on the right grips his rifle, the fuck-you in his self-assured stance. Nothing at all.

 

*          *          *

 

Jem's restless. It's a low-level hum, like a live wire that's laced through his veins. He can't focus, edgy and agitated and it makes him fucking crazy.

 

He tries to distract himself today like he has for the past several. He adds twenty pounds to the weight bench in the basement and bench-presses until his arms are jelly. Cleans every fuckin' weapon he owns. Drinks, smokes, snorts. It's useless.

 

His nights offer no relief. He tries to shut off his mind but every time he closes his eyes, he sees the honesty, the vulnerability in her eyes as she sits astride him, sweat at her temples and his fingers inside her. Her soft pink lips wrapped around his dick as she worked him to completion. He's hard all the goddamn time, like a thirteen-year-old getting a peep in the girls' locker room. Jerks off about as much, too. It's pathetic.

 

It rips him in half, the conflict of it driving him insane. The screaming lust and the dread that accompanies it. How long, his mind taunts. How long until you drag her down into the cesspool that you thrive in? Turn her into another cautionary tale?

 

His thoughts are interrupted as the screen door slams open and Krista barges in, carrying a sweaty Shyne and a sippy cup of juice. She sets the baby down and fluffs her tangled blonde hair. “Got any smokes?” she asks. Jem wordlessly tosses her a pack of Marlboros.

 

Shyne wanders into the living room, squawking at the television. Krista grabs the remote and changes the channel to Sesame Street. “You’re one lucky son of a bitch,” she says as she lights up, takes the first drag.

 

“I ain’t the one with a shattered leg,” he retorts. “ _He’s_ fuckin’ lucky I was in a good mood and let him crip walk home to his family. Eventually.”

 

She chuckles. “You’re psycho.”

 

“Pays the bills, Kris.” And then some.

 

She shrugs, and takes another pull from her cig. “Alicia’s been askin’ about you. Says you haven’t been comin’ around lately.”

 

Jem makes an exasperated face. “What, she think we’re married, for Christ’ sake? I fuck her a few times and now she’s my ball and chain?”

 

Krista puts her hands in the air. “I don’t fuckin’ know and I don’t wanna. She’ll be at the fight tonight. That’s all I’m sayin’.”  

 

He scrubs a hand over his face wearily. Alicia’s a feisty ball-breaker of a bar slut, but maybe she’ll be enough to put his head back on straight. Chase out whatever illusions he’s held onto about things he was never meant to have.

 

*          *          *

 

“Ma, if I eat another bite I’m gonna explode. I’m serious.”

 

“Listen to you, thinkin’ you know better than your mother,” Mrs. Connelly clucks. “You’re too skinny. Always been.” She sighs heavily. “At least take some home with you, will ya?”

 

Ryan throws his hands in the air. “Alright, alright.”

 

Erin pushes away from the dinner table, carries her empty plate to the sink, and retreats to the living room. She flops onto their worn sofa. Her father was already comfortably settled into his favorite recliner, remote in hand, flipping through the channels absently. He pauses on the History Channel. Another World War II documentary; this time on the Battle at Iwo Jima.

 

Erin curls up in the corner of the couch and prepares herself for another exciting evening. Maybe, if she’s feeling adventurous, she’ll even stay up for the eleven o’clock news.

 

She’s zoned out on the Allies’ air battle tactics, the television barely audible over her father’s deep snores, when she hears footsteps on the hardwood behind her. “This how you college girls really spend your breaks? _Girls Gone Wild_ owes me a refund.” Ryan’s voice is dry and a little amused.

 

Erin sits up, halfway asleep herself, and shoots him a withering look. “Try not to be too jealous,” she replies. He grins, and she smiles sadly, turning back to the program.

 

She hears a short, gruff breath behind her. “Get up. Go get changed. You’re coming with me.”

 

She throws him a pointed, wary look. He shrugs. “Won’t kill ya to have a little fun once in awhile. Just make it quick up there, we don’t got all night.”

 

Erin hurries up the stairs and into her small bedroom, where she changed into a pair of shorts, flat sandals, and a peachy, flowy top. She swipes on a few coats of mascara and a little lip gloss. When she appraises herself in the mirror, she frowns at her hair, which she’d left wavy and long at the behest of the mugginess. A dab of styling cream rubbed through it helps a little, but she decides it’s adequate for…

 

She pauses as she realizes that she has no idea where they’re headed, but it’s more or less immaterial to her at this point. She’s getting out of the house for something other than work, and that’s good enough for her.

 

When she returns to the living room, her father is all-out sawing logs. Her mother has taken over the remote control and is deeply involved in an episode of _Murder, She Wrote_.

 

“Okay,” she declares, squaring her shoulders like a general on the cusp of battle. “Let’s go have…fun.”

 

*          *          *

 

Ryan takes them outside of the Town, to a large Irish pub right in the heart of Beantown. It’s packed, the hordes of people and pulsing music almost bring the building itself alive.

 

As they approach the door and the formidable bouncers, Ryan glances back at her. “Don’t say nothin’, okay? Let me handle this.”

 

Erin nods. One of the bouncers, a tall black man with biceps as big as her head, spots her brother and breaks into a grin. They greet each other like old buddies, exchanging the usual “’Sup, man?” and fist-bumps, and then Ryan’s ushering her in past him.

 

Once she’s actually through the door, she sees why the place is buzzing. Huge Ultimate Fighting banners hang from the ceiling and more flatscreens than she can count are all tuned to the same channel. She’d seen commercials for it – the championship fight is airing tonight from Vegas.

 

Somehow, Erin manages to locate a table towards the back of the bar, in a slightly less jam-packed corner. She hops up onto the stool and Ryan sets off to get them each drinks. From her vantage point she has a good view of the other patrons. As she surveys the scene, she feels a little sheepish in comparison to the other girls in attendance, dressed in miniskirts and sky-high heels and more makeup than Erin would know what to do with. Most are deeply tanned. She might as well be in a parka and a nun’s habit.

 

Ryan returns with a whiskey sour for her and a Guinness for himself. As soon as the glass hits the table, he’s gone again, waving over his shoulder and calling, “I’ll be right back!” She smiles in response; she knows as well as he does that he’s no wallflower, and spending the night hiding in the corner isn’t his style. She’s not angry. It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last.

 

Erin takes a long pull from her drink. The cocktail is strong but tasty; she can detect the whiskey but the sour draws away the oaky flavor. It’s gone too fast and she feels warm all over.

 

Making her way to the bar is a tricky maneuver and she finds it’s best to just push her way through the throngs. She finally emerges on the other side and waits for one of the harried bartenders to notice her.

 

To her left, she hears a familiar laugh. It’s deep and smug and that _voice_ …

 

Erin’s heart leaps into her throat. Five or six people down, Jem’s leaning against the hardwood, beer in hand, that crinkle-eyed smile on his face that she sees so rarely. Next to him, Doug MacRay is focused on the fight, whooping and shouting at the screens. There may be others that she knows, she doesn’t notice if so.

 

There’s a hand resting on Jem’s bicep. A hand that’s artificially tanned and tipped with long acrylic fingernails. Erin freezes. Time seems to slow to a crawl. The hand belongs to a black-haired vixen with pushed-up tits bursting out of her electric blue minidress. She’s pressing herself against Jem’s muscular chest and he’s not exactly fighting her off.

 

Somehow Erin turns away before Jem notices her staring. She rests her hands on the smooth surface of the bar, trying to ground herself. You knew, her mind chides her. You knew what he was. You played with fire. Where are your burns?

 

The impatient face of a bartender moves into her field of vision. “’Can I getcha?” the aging blonde barks harshly.

 

Erin can’t form words yet and her lips work open and closed a few times without a sound. The bartender raises her eyebrows witheringly. “Gonna have to speak up, sweetheart, I don’t read lips,” she snaps.

 

“Whiskey sour,” she finally chokes out, then adds in a stronger voice, “Make it a double.” She reaches into her small purse for cash, but when she moves to set the bills down, there’s already a ten laid in front of her. Her eyes narrow. She’s got no patience for a smarmy pick-up line tonight.

 

Erin feels him before she sees him, like a magnetic pull that she can’t do anything but be swept away in. He’s all danger and controlled chaos, positively radiates it like heat from a furnace.

 

It’s too much. She’s wound too tight and he’s too close and fuck it all, she can’t see anything but long nails digging into his biceps. The jealousy roils and simmers through her.

 

It’s too much.

 

Her eyes betray nothing as he sidles up next to her, his powerful forearms resting against the lacquered wood. The whiskey sears down her throat. It hurts so deliciously, grounds her. She drains it until the ice cubes brush the tip of her nose, then turns on her heel and disappears into the crowd.

 

The fight is in full swing now, and Erin can tell from across the bar that Ryan's three sheets to the wind. Probably forgot she was even there. She knows Jem’s following her, would know by the annoyed grunts and protests as he makes his way through the throngs (he doesn’t bother with politeness, just elbows and shoulders and shoves) and out into the muggy night air. His strides are long and purposeful and he’s closing in on her fast.

 

She continues without sparing him one backward glance, and they circle around the building until the noise of the bar is down to a dull roar. Erin spots Jem’s sleek black Charger parked a few yards away. He’s a step behind her now. Finally, she stops to collect herself and begins to say, “Jem, I-”

 

But she doesn’t get to finish, because lightning-fast he whirls around, grabs her shoulders and pushes her hard against the coarse brick. “What the fuck are you playing at?” he growls, raspy and deep and feral. His infamous temper is boiling near the surface, but even in the dim streetlight, she can see that his pupils almost completely engulf the blue of his eyes.  

 

How she holds onto any shred of her mental faculties is a mystery. “Usually you buy a girl a drink then you get the blowjob. Figured you owed it to me,” she bites off.

 

“You fuckin’ serious?”

 

“Besides,” she continues, “you looked busy. Didn’t want to interrupt.” The answering silence is stony and she sighs a little. Her next words take every ounce of will she has. “Look, it’s okay. I’m not that young. I don’t expect anything from you. You can do whatever you want, with whoever you want-”

 

“Stop. Just…just fuckin’ stop. Jesus Christ. You think you fucking know. Think you know _everything_ , don’t you? You don’t. _I should not be doing this_ ,” Jem practically shouts, and despite himself his eyes drift down her exposed throat, the rise and fall of her chest as her labored breathing courses through her. When he speaks again, his voice is distant. “Ryan’s sister…and fuck, fifteen years, I spent a year in juvie before you were even walkin’.Ain’t right. You’re a good girl and this ain’t right.” His hands curl into fists and he slams them into the brick, making her jump. She can’t take her eyes off of his face, though. It’s a maelstrom, a volcano on the verge of blowing sky-high, and the most beautiful fucking thing she’s ever seen.

 

“I can’t leave you alone,” he confesses, his words choked. “I should, and I can’t. I try to stop. I tried to. Tonight. To…distract myself.” His low, bitter chuckle pulls at her heart, makes her ache a little for him. “See how well that worked out.”

 

Lust, hot and urgent, races through her blood at his words. Something else, too, that sneaks in and whispers that maybe for him, there’s more, too. She doesn’t dare let herself hope, though. Slowly, her fingers wrap around the thick cords of his forearms. “I don’t want you to,” she says softly. “Leave me alone, I mean.”

 

The breath is knocked from her lungs when suddenly Jem reaches down and grabs her ass, hard. He lifts her up and pushes himself between her legs, which instinctively wrap around his hips. Holy shit, he’s a good kisser; who would’ve thought? Delicious pressure rubs up against that sweet spot at the apex of her thighs and she moans, louder than she should for being in public.

 

Jem groans. “Fuck,” he bites off as he nips and sucks at her neck. “Want you so fuckin’ bad. Can’t think about nothin’ else.”

 

Erin grinds herself against where she can feel him, rock-hard and throbbing for her. He growls and clutches her even harder, so desperate for contact it’s like he’d consume her completely. She’s never been so turned on in her life.

 

“I want you to fuck me,” she whispers in his ear. “I want you inside me, Jem. Please.”

 

She feels him turn them away from the wall, the scratchy brick giving way to cool air. He takes a couple shaky steps forward and sets her down on smooth, cool metal. She glances down. It’s the hood of his car and holy hell, she’s gonna go off like a rocket and she’s too far gone to care. It’s every dirty fantasy she’s ever dreamed up late at night, when she’s alone with her fingers inside herself.

 

Erin peers up at him through dark, lush eyelashes and pushes herself up on her forearms. She watches with a smile as his eyes dart over her body, unable to decide what he wants to ogle first. He’s palming himself through his jeans, his stare burning into her. God, she could come just from this.

 

 “Here?” he asks with a hazy grin. “I’d do it, y’know. You say the word and I’ll pound you ‘til you scream, right here. Let ‘em all come out and watch if they want.”

 

Fast as lightning Erin launches herself up and snakes her arms around his neck, dragging him down onto her. One hand snakes under her ass and she mewls as his thumb pushes forward to rub her clit. The other steel-trap arm slips under her, drawing her up into an arch, and he mouths her nipple through her shirt. So raw, so desperate. Devours them both until there’s nothing left but pure unadulterated need.

 

Suddenly, Jem abruptly lifts himself off of her. Without any explanation, he scoops her up and carries her to the passenger door. Somehow he manages to open the door, then dumps her unceremoniously onto the seat. "Where are we going?" she calls, already missing the feel of his hands on her.

 

"Somewhere the only person who'll hear you scream is me."

 

Oh.

 

Jem practically throws himself into the driver’s seat and guns it so hard out of the parking lot his tires squeal in protest. Erin finds herself transfixed by his hands on the steering wheel, the masterful way he handles the shifter – is driving always this goddamn sexy?

 

By the time they finally pull into his driveway she’s ready to push him down on the front lawn and fuck him right there. Somehow they manage to make it inside in between fumbling kisses and gropes and how did they get up the stairs? She can’t remember. It doesn’t matter.

 

The clothes fly off behind them in a forgotten trail, down the hallway and on the faded carpet of Jem’s bedroom, and suddenly she’s naked and lying on his bed as he hovers over her. His eyes are cloudy with lust, hungry and raging, but something like awe creeps in on the edges. “I’ve wanted this for so long,” he rasps. “You have no idea.”

 

Yes, I do, she thinks, but only smiles in reply.

 

His lips start at her throat and work their way down through the valley between her breasts, and lower. He works her into a frenzy, slides down her body until she can feel his hot breath at her center, and she realizes what he’s about to do.

 

Panic rises in her chest and she reflexively tries to draw her thighs together. Jem smirks. “What’s the matter, baby? You tryin’ to tell me you won’t let me taste you?”

 

“No, I…I’ve never, um, had anyone do this,” she stammers. “You don’t have to-”

 

“Bullshit,” he spits, then grins, that panty-dropper that makes her forget her own name. He slips one finger inside her slickness, deep as it will go, and draws it out slowly. She watches with fascination as he brings it to his lips. “Let me do this. Please.” His tongue snakes out, licks her juices up like ice cream.

 

Dazed, she just nods, and he dips his head down. Her hips buck at the first lap on her clit; he steadies her, holds her in place. The tension builds and builds as he ramps up the tempo from slow and teasing to urgent and wild. “Oh, fuck,” she whines as her hands rake over his buzz cut and she's driving her pussy up to his face. “Oh my God. I’m gonna…oh, fuck, Jem, I’m…!” Her words turn to unintelligible moans and the pleasure bursts open in a blinding explosion, so hard she nearly blacks out.

 

When she recovers enough to open her eyes, Jem's on his knees beside her, stroking himself shamelessly, a self-satisfied smirk curving his lips. “That was fuckin’ beautiful. Feeling you come on my tongue like that. Jesus fuckin’ Christ.”

 

He leans down and kisses her deeply as he repositions himself between her legs, where she’s open and ready for him. Their eyes meet and in one honest, feverish moment everything falls away and it’s just them. You have all of me, she tries to tell him without words. And I want all of you. I don’t care about the rest.

 

Erin barely registers the sound of his bedside drawer scraping open and crinkling foil tearing; he rocks back onto his knees as he rolls the condom over his length. His eyes never leave hers.

 

When he returns to her, fits his body over hers, she can feel the tip of his cock tease at her entrance. Her fingertips ghost over the planes of his shoulders, his back; he pushes inside, just barely, and she spreads for him easily. Finally, her mind and body and heart sing. 

  
He stays still for a moment, letting her adjust, and she's relieved. He's thick and it stretches her open more than she's ever been. There's some pain, but mixed with the dizzying lust she only burns hotter for him. "Move. Please," she whimpers, curling her calves around the backs of his sinewy thighs. He chuckles and begins the push and pull, the entrance and withdraw, and his hips drive him a little deeper with each gentle thrust. When he’s finally enveloped in her, all the way, he lets out a strangled breath. “Shit. So tight, baby. God, you feel…fuck.” His forehead drops onto the pillow beside her.

 

Erin can barely breathe. How can this feel so fucking _good_? Hot and hard within her, she clenches down on him, eliciting a moan from him that’s like music to her ears. She shifts her hips experimentally, lifting them to take him deeper. Take me. Claim me.

 

He obliges.

 

He drags his stubble along her neck, crushes her body to his like he can’t get close enough. She wants to drown in him, to shoot him through her veins until she’s strung out and hungry for more. The tempo rushes forward until he’s steadily ramming into her wet heat. Her nails scrape down his back, drawing a ragged groan out of his mouth. "Tryin' to kill me? Drive me crazy? Goes both ways, baby." Erin feels Jem’s weight shift as he leans on one arm over her. He covers one breast with his palm and runs his thumb over nipple.

 

She shudders. “Please,” she implores. Fingers claw at the sheets in effort to find something nameless that will sate what she craves.

 

He reaches down, circles her clit, and it’s what she needs. With a desperate moan she bucks her hips upward, meeting him thrust for thrust. “Yes, oh God, please, don’t stop,” she begs as he continues his attentions on her. Suddenly, the pleasure curls into a tight little ball and explodes outward, reaching every cell of her being. She cries out his name, a prayer on her lips, a confession, a declaration, as it overtakes her.  

 

“So beautiful,” he whispers in her ear when her orgasm finally abates. “Been dreaming about this for a long time, baby. Longer than you know. Been waiting so long to feel you wrapped around me, feel you come on my dick.”

 

Erin seeks out his eyes, clear and blue in the moonlight. There is no arrogance, no smug pride written on his face, but dark and intense, all the same. She draws him to her, wrapping her legs around his waist and spreading her palms over his shoulders. “Show me,” she says. “Show me how it feels.”

 

He wastes no time then, his thrusts ramping up until he’s pounding into her in a headlong rush to the end. A choked shout echoes off the walls as he finally falls over the edge and Erin can't think of a single thing that she will remember more vividly in her lifetime. He collapses on top of her, sweaty and satisfied. 

 

Jem kisses her cheek, a sweet gesture that catches Erin off-guard. He rests his stubbly jaw against her temple. "Stay?" he asks, and her heart breaks just the tiniest bit, a fissure with his name scrawled across it. 

 

Erin just circles her arms around him and savors the feel of his body against hers. She couldn't leave if she tried. "Of course." Her tragic hero, with strength forged from the blackest of ashes.

 

Tomorrow there would be questions. Tonight, there is just them.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts? Good? Bad? Cupcakes?


	3. Chapter 3

 

Long after Erin's breathing slows, evens out, Jem's still wide awake. He runs his fingers along the rounded slope of her ribs to the dip of her slender waist. She feels so damn good against him. With a smirk he realizes that this - the post-sex haze when he hasn't immediately hiked his pants back up and gotten the hell out of dodge - is new for him. Hardly ever done the deed in a bed, come to think of it. The bathroom of a seedy bar or the backseat of his Charger was more his style.

 

His palm spreads across her flat belly as he fits himself against the curve of her body. A surge of lust floods through him at the memory of being inside her. So tight. So trusting. Now that he’s had her, he’d expected that the hold she has over him would break and he could distance himself enough to get his head back on straight. But he’s only even more consumed by his animalistic desire for her, the taste that awakens the hunger. You don’t know what you’ve done, sweetheart. I’ll eat you alive.

 

His hips thrust almost involuntarily against her ass. He wants her again. And again. A siren call that he’s powerless to resist. But he closes his eyes, and forces himself to succumb to sleep. He was gonna need it.

 

*          *          *

 

Erin squirms against the heavy, sweltering mass that's wrapped around her. She tries to shift and realizes she's pinned in place by an arm. An arm laced with thick, corded muscle and long, blunt fingers. She smiles secretly to herself.

 

A glance at the digital clock on Jem’s nightstand reads 2:43. Has she ever slept so well? She can’t remember.

 

Jem must sense her stirring, because he languidly stretches and rumbles a lazy grunt in her ear. "Mmm. Ready for more already, baby?"

 

She grins sleepily. "Depends. Think an old-timer like you can handle another go?"

 

"Old-timer?" Jem’s definitely awake now, as he slides his hands around her hips and grinds her into where he's already hard and ready. "You tell me." She emits a high-pitched squeak as he bites down on the soft flesh of her shoulder. "You need to learn some respect, little girl." His fingers slide between the folds of her pussy, teasing at the wetness he finds there.

 

"Fuck, yes," she moans as he turns her inside out with just his hands. "I want you back inside me, please, Jem-"

 

"That right? Can't get enough?" He slips the head of his cock just inside of her slick lips, God she'd feel so fucking good with nothing between them-

 

No. He twists himself around, keeping his right hand between her legs and using the other to dig through his bedside table for a condom. As he rummages, her tiny hand sneaks between them and gives him a few agonizingly slow pumps. His mouth goes dry. “Big boy,” she murmurs, and he can hear the smile in her voice.

 

“Hell yeah,” Jem agrees. “It's gonna feel so good inside you.” The condom rolls on easily and with one smooth thrust he’s inside her. He groans. So impossibly fucking _tight_ and wet and scorching hot. She pushes back on him and as he bottoms out as deep as he can go, she clenches down and _fuck_ he shouldn’t be this close to coming. He’s a grown fucking man-

 

His fingers dig into her hips hard enough to make her squeal. "You like that, baby?” His voice is dark, dangerous; it sends a thrill right through her. “You like feelin' me split you open? I think you do.” He snaps his hips forward and feels the tip of his dick brush against her cervix, causing a ragged moan to fall from her lips. "How you want this, baby? Fast and rough? Slow and sweet?"

 

“Yes,” she sighs, the word drawn out just enough that it was really more of a whine. “I love how you feel inside me, please, just fuck me hard-“

 

“You want it hard?” That voice. It’s steel wrapped in velvet, all filthy and dirty and liquid sex. Shit, she’d never be able to get it out of her head. “Good girl like you, wantin’ me to pound that pussy? I don’t know, princess. I ain't convinced. Gonna have to work a little harder than that.” Another sharp thrust; she keens like she’s in heat. "Tell me what you want."

 

Erin can only moan in response, grinding furiously on his dick, desperate for contact.

 

“Tell me," he orders sternly, and dammit if he didn't pull out just the tiniest bit. Erin was going to lose her mind, she was so crazy with lust. 

 

She’s wound so tight she can barely breathe, and suddenly the words burst forth like a breaking dam. “Yes! Please! God, yes, give it to me hard, Jem, please! Just fuck me-“

 

The air is nearly knocked from her lungs as he slams inside her, and it almost hurts but she’s so far gone she doesn’t give a shit. There’ll definitely be bruises; she’ll wear them like battle scars. With each brutal thrust that follows she’s crying out unintelligibly and he fucks her like he’s trying to slip under her skin. His hands roam over her body, squeezing her breasts and teasing her clit.

 

"Mine," he growls in her ear. "Bet that little fucker didn't make you scream like that, did he? You beg for his dick like you do for me?"

 

Erin's so fucked-out that it takes her a second for his words to register. A tired smile crosses her face. "You really need me to answer that? Or do you just want me to feed your ego?"

 

"Smart mouth you got on you," Jem replies. Abruptly, he pulls out of her and manhandles her roughly as he rolls onto his back. She finds herself straddling his hips, chest heaving as he she's faced with his smug, I-dare-you expression. "Look me in the eye and give me that attitude."

 

She rises up on her knees and grips his stiff length, slick with their juices. Her green eyes burn into his as she sinks herself down on him, taking him in until she feels the tops of his thighs rest against her ass. Her eyes close for a moment, reveling in the delicious sensation of him filling her.

 

When she dares open them again, she's startled by the raw desire on Jem's face. He's staring at her intensely, all the want written in the lines of his eyes and the way his lips part just the slightest. It's honest. You're so beautiful, she thinks desperately. Do you know that? Could you see what I see?

 

His hands move to where her hip joins her thigh. "Ride me," he breathes, and she burns, so hot that she's sure she'll go up in flames any second now. A slow roll of her hips to start; Jem bites his lip. She gains a rhythm, builds a steady pace. His cock rubs against the sweet spot deep inside her and the cries that sing out from her throat are barely recognizable. Every inch of her skin is live, crackling and humming with electricity.

 

"Fuck," Jem groans. "This...you're straight outta some wet dream, you know that? Every teenage boy's fantasy."

 

Long chestnut curls fall around her face like a curtain as she leans down, lips caressing the hollow of his throat. He swallows hard. "What about you?" she whispers huskily. "Am I yours? Am I what you think about when you've got those big hands wrapped around yourself?"

 

She straightens back up, still riding his cock. He doesn't answer her, just continues to stare openly at her writhing form. "How about now?" Slender fingers slide into her thick, lush hair while her other hand slips down in front, circling her clit. Fuck, she's getting close just putting on a show for him.

 

His grip on her hips tightens. "Shit, yes," he bites off. "Gonna make me come, I can't hold back-"

 

"Then don't. Give it to me, all of it." He bucks up into her with hard, rocking thrusts as his face twists into an agonizing grimace of tortured pleasure. She comes right along with him, close enough where they can’t tell whose skin is whose, so blindingly bright it’s nearly painful.

 

Once they've recovered, Erin nestles herself against Jem's hard body and falls into a blissful, easy sleep. A lock of silky hair tumbles over her shoulder and comes to rest against his cheek. He toys with it gently. So soft. Do all girls have hair like this? He's never spent enough time with one...after. He chuckles at himself.

 

This one, though. This one. Jem doesn't have an agenda. No plan. She's smoothing over the rough patches on him like a balm to chapped skin; it's happening faster than he can keep up with. He should want to resist, because if there's one thing he's learned to avoid, it's dependency. Can't trust no one but yourself.

 

He should want to resist. It just feels too good.

 

Maybe it’s because he can't figure her out. How are you real? Starry-eyed and naïve in a place where cold, painful reality stares you down from every corner. He still has to remind himself that she was born and raised only a few blocks away. A few blocks from where he learned to jack the wiring on a late-model Ford and disappear with it thirty seconds later. Before he even knew how to drive the fuckin’ thing.

 

His eyes close with the weight of it all; he's in so fucking deep now. How did it come to this?

 

*          *          *

 

When Jem awakes next, the early summer sun is streaming through the blinds and he's alone. A quick survey of his messy bedroom reveals that Erin's clothes are nowhere to be seen, and neither is she. He flops back into his pillow. For the best, he tells himself, but the words fall strangely flat in his mind.

 

His ears perk up as the bathroom faucet turns on; the ancient plumbing groans accordingly. A few moments later, the creak of the hallway floorboards travels closer and closer to his door.

 

Green eyes and a bedhead of mahogany curls poke through, a shy expression on her uncertain face. "Hi."

 

"Hey." He stretches his arms up and settles them leisurely behind his head, letting the sheet pool around his waist. He doesn't miss the way her gaze rakes over his naked torso.

 

"I just thought I'd get going, y'know, since..." She trails off, but keeps her eyes on his, and he realizes that she's not baiting him into arguing with her, just stating the facts. They fucked. And now she's doing what she thinks he wants her to do: get the hell out.

 

The thought bothers him more than he's comfortable admitting to himself. He studies her unabashedly, mind racing. I love nothing. I care for nothing. The world has fucked me, and I turned around and fucked it right back.

 

Jem swallows hard. I am not a good man.

 

But maybe, for her, I can be a better one.

 

"You got somewhere to be?" he asks casually.

 

She's silent for a moment as the weight of his words settles over her. "Not so much, no."

 

"Then you ain't goin' anywhere. Come here."

 

Erin smiles and complies, crawling up on the bed next to him. "So bossy," she comments. Her long legs fold up beneath her as she curls up against his thighs.

 

Jem turns the charm on full force, that cocky panty-dropper grin that melts her reservations like candle wax. "I got…control issues,” he smirks. “You hungry?”

 

A raised eyebrow causes him to chuckle. “Oh, I got an appetite for that too, baby, no doubt there. But I’m gonna be useless ‘til you feed me.”

 

“’Til I feed you? Do I have to remind you, poor college kid here? My cooking skills involve hot water, and even that’s hit or miss.” Erin’s grinning brightly.

 

The look Jem shoots her is withering, though good-natured. “I said feed, not cook. Come on.” He stands abruptly and the sheet pulls away, leaving him buck naked. Completely at ease with it, too. Erin ogles his sculpted body openly as he meanders around his room. He finds a pair of red athletic shorts and tugs them over his hips; he forgoes a shirt altogether, to her secret delight.

 

In Jem’s messy kitchen he proceeds to throw together the most haphazard omelet she’s ever had – there’s way more cheese than egg, and ham and onion and something she can’t identify but actually tastes decent, so she doesn’t question. They bring the heavily loaded plates back up to his room and eat on his rumpled sheets. “I can’t believe you can cook,” she blurts between mouthfuls.

 

Jem, reclining against the headboard, shrugs. “Ain’t no five-star chef, that’s for damn sure. But my ma wasn’t exactly no housewife, and cereal and TV dinners get real old real fast.” His voice betrays nothing but a steely glint turns his blue eyes cold.

 

Erin sets her fork down. “You do what you have to,” she says, trying to keep her tone light. “We all do.” Maybe one day you can tell me your secrets. But not now.

 

He doesn’t reply, just turns her words over in his mind. When his gaze meets hers, she catches a flash of something she can’t quite name, only that it’s the man that Jem might have been if life hadn’t dealt him a bum hand from day one.

 

"C'mere." He reaches for her.

 

Their plates clatter to the floor, forgotten.

 

* * *

 

It's high noon before Erin slips in through the back door, passes through the kitchen and makes it to the safety of her bedroom. Neither of her parents' cars are in the driveway - her father has a few years until retirement and her mom is probably running errands. Luckily, today wasn't a day that Ryan decided to drop by unannounced and raid their fridge.

 

She ponders the implications of Ryan catching her mid-walk of shame. Does she really care if he knows she never made it home last night? The thought doesn't bother her as much as she had expected. But trepidation knots in her stomach when she adds Jem into the picture, and she's relieved she hadn't had to explain herself to anyone. Not when she herself isn’t totally sure she could put it into words.

 

With a tired sigh she strips out of yesterday's clothes and steps under the spray of the shower. The warm water relaxes her muscles; she's sore in some unusual places. A secretive smile curves her lips as she replays the night in her mind's eye. Whatever this is, whatever strange dance they’re pushing and pulling around each other, she can’t bring herself to wish for anything different.

 

            *          *          *

 

British Literature? Hmm. American Avant Garde Film? Maybe. Crime Fiction? That sounds promising.

 

Erin has a few minutes before she has to leave for work. Perusing the summer course offerings at their community college, she contemplates the possibility of getting a head start on her English minor. It’s a delicate situation; she doesn’t want to spend her summer holed up in front of her laptop, either.

 

She checks her hair one last time before grabbing her keys and her phone. The latter buzzes in her hand. A text, from a 617 area code. She opens the message, and a hard little pit settles itself in her stomach:

 

_Stay inside._

It’s Jem. She knows it. Brief and cryptic, no explanation. A tiny warning bell in her head urges her to heed the warning, but another, stronger voice says that she has commitments, too.

 

_Why?_

 

It’s ten minutes to eight. She stalls for two minutes, endless pods of time that pass painfully slow. There’s no reply. She locks the front door behind her, and gets behind the wheel of her mom’s aging Malibu.

 

Approximately ninety minutes later, as she’s replacing the water in a bucket of pink tulips, she hears the shrill wail of sirens approach. She pays them no mind; it’s Charlestown. If she jumped every time the police or an ambulance went screaming by, she’d never get any sleep.

 

The sirens grow louder and then sharply cut off. Mildly interested, she peers out the plate glass windows of the store and sees a wild, chaotic cluster of patrol cars, fire trucks, and the shiny black of a SWAT van surrounding the Bank of America across the street. She’s never seen so many BPD officers in one place.

 

The store manager rushes over to her frantically. “Away from the windows,” he shoos, barely disguising his panic as he glances helplessly around the store. He scurries off to herd several confused customers into the frozen foods section, a safe distance from the front doors.

 

Still in disbelief, Erin shrinks back into the various buckets and floral displays.

 

_Stay inside._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good? Bad? Rrrrghhhh? (Watch Wreck-It Ralph, you'll get it)
> 
> Thx everyone for your reviews & feedback already!


	4. Chapter 4

Erin holds the phone as far away from her ear as she can manage. Through the plate glass windows of the store, she watches as the last cop car pulls back out onto the busy intersection and the hoopla of the last couple of hours dies down. According to the newscaster, the perps had escaped and an ongoing investigation is underway. Residents of the area were warned to be vigilant and to call the police if they spot any suspicious activity.

 

She's lived in Charlestown since the day she was born. "Ongoing investigation" meant that the cops would add it to their laundry list of unsolved bank robberies, and move on to crimes they could actually do something with.

 

Her mother continues to screech into her ear, venting her relief and pent-up terror at having her daughter so close to danger. Erin doesn't blame her, but the treachery was over, at least for now. "Mom," she tries to cut in but there's hardly any chance. "Mom. Mom! I'm fine. Everyone here is fine." She closes her eyes, a sizable headache forming in her temple. "I'm gonna finish up here and head home. Do you need anything while I'm here?"

 

"Just to know that you're safe! Do you want your father and I to come get you?" Her mom's decibel level hasn't dropped a fraction and she can't help but wince.

 

"No. No, I'll see you soon." She feels a little guilty at cutting her mother off so abruptly as she hits the end button on her phone, but her mind's a million miles away.

 

Jem. What are you hiding?

 

She's not naive enough to think she could ever be privy to all of his secrets. The man had a laundry list of his own - it was called a criminal record.

 

You already know. Get your head out of the sand.

 

She can't. She won't let the thought take shape in her mind. Not yet.

 

***

 

Her parents nearly faint with relief when she pulls into the driveway unscathed. She hugs them both, then takes the first opportunity to dart upstairs to her room, exhausted. The day is catching up with her and she wants nothing more than to stop the runaway train that's barreling through her mind.

 

Within moments of flopping onto her bed, she's out like a light. She sleeps fitfully, glimpses of strong hands and cop lights and the rasp of stubble against her skin plaguing her as she tosses and turns.

 

The buzzing of her phone rouses her some hours later, when the sun's dipped below the horizon and left a dusky twilight in its wake. Groggily she claws at the screen and tries to focus her sleepy eyes on the text message. Her breath catches.

 

_Wake up._

 

A strange mix of apprehension and excitement rises in her chest. The gauzy curtain partially covering her window sways gently; from her bed she has a perfect view of the street below. And the black Charger that's parked directly across.

 

_I see you._

 

She's immediately aware that the lamp next to her bed was left on, and she's still in khakis and her work-issued polo shirt. She makes a face. Then an mischievous smile puts a sparkle in her green eyes.

 

He wants to look? Let him reap what he sows.

 

With her back to the steadily darkening summer evening, Erin crosses her arms and draws her shirt up and over her head. Her bra is a rich shade of plum with lace at every seam. Look what you've done.

 

It's like his eyes are in every corner of the room, devouring her, aching to touch, to claim. She stretches her slender arms up, letting him take in the long lines of her back. Her fingers comb through her thick hair, piling it on her head and letting the tresses cascade down like a waterfall. Her thighs rub enticingly together. She's soaking wet already.

 

Her phone comes to life again.

 

_That ain't nice, princess._

 

_Do you want me to stop?_

 

_Fuck no._

 

The belt and pants are next. Every inch they wiggle over her hips reveals another glimpse of the matching purple thong that barely passes for underwear. She feels wanton, like an object to be desired. It's so deliciously naughty that she can't see him, but he can see every inch of her.

 

_I was wrong. That's very, very nice._

 

She smirks, and doesn't reply, just lets her pants pool around her ankles in a wrinkled pile. Bent at the waist, letting the skimpy G-string show off everything she has to offer, it's a full-on peep show for an audience of one. And she's all too happy to perform.

 

_Get out here._

 

Over her shoulder, she tosses him a devil-may-care look and skims her palms over the edges of her silhouette. Takes her time. Pretends her hands are his and lets them wander over the stretches of smooth skin. Every pass leaves a burning trail in its wake.

 

With a swing in her hips she takes a few slow, deliberate steps to her closet. She selects a sundress, baby blue with halter straps that tie at the nape of her neck and a plunging neckline. It slips over her head with a silky whisper; she shivers. Every inch of her is on fire and she can't wait to feel Jem's rough hands stoke the flames within.

 

It's a pitch-black summer night, the thick haze of clouds obscuring the moonlight. Erin approaches the driver's side with a mix of anticipation and slight hesitance; the way one might come up to a wild animal. The window is halfway down but it's impossible to see inside.

 

She's less than a couple yards away when a low, raspy voice with a harsh townie accent drawls, "Should be careful leavin' your drapes open like that. Never know what kinda pervs are out here."

 

The smoky, tinted window slides down and those eyes, those piercing sky-blue weapons steal the breath from her lungs. She stalks up to the door and croons in a throaty voice, "Oh, I know exactly what kind of pervs are hiding out here."

 

Lust, thick and hot, clouds the minute space between them. The mirth instantly fades from his face like a snuffed candle. "Get in," he growls.

 

A thrill runs through her as she crosses to the passenger side and slides into the seat. The scent of leather and soap and a hint of cigarettes assault her senses; she wants to bathe in it.

 

The moment the door clicks shut Jem's on her, lips attacking hers and hands roaming hungrily over every curve. A gasp escapes her throat. "Fuck. I want you inside me," she confesses as his fingers slip between her legs. "I haven't been able to think about anything else."

 

A desperate cry is ripped from her as he finds her wet center. God, he plays her like a fucking piano; it's so good it should be illegal. "Oh, don't you worry, baby girl. I ain't lettin' you go til you scream."

 

Even as his rough fingers tease her clit and dip inside her slick heat, she manages to hold onto enough presence of mind not to ignore the impressive boner poking out from his lap. She slides her hand across the fly of his jeans and he bucks into her touch with a groan. "Y'know," he smirks, breath hitching as she presses her fingers around the outline of his cock, "you ain't the only one who's had something on your mind."

 

Demurely she peeks up at him through a fringe of lush, dark lashes. "Is that right?"

 

The hand that's grasping at the back of her neck slips upward to comb through her waves of hair, and takes a firm hold. "I wanna see them pretty lips wrapped around my dick again." His hips thrust forward as if to emphasize his point.

 

Yes, the word surges forth in her mind. Let me make you come apart the way you do to me.

 

As she frees his cock from his boxers and jeans, tugging them down over his ass to his knees, she's struck again by his size. And then by how much she wants to taste it. That taut, smooth skin over thick veins and rigid flesh.

 

She pumps him with her hand as she takes the mushroom head into her mouth, his hand tangled in her hair as he guides her down his length. "Oh, shit," he bites off. She laps at the underside with her tongue as she draws him back out. He hisses sharply.

 

Her head dips back down and pulls him back in, deep as she can go. Jem groans his approval. "Fuck. That's good, baby." The tip starts to slide down into her throat and she carefully, deliberately swallows around him. She inches her fingers down, down until she's gently cupping his balls, squeezing with the lightest pressure.

 

She's pleasantly surprised that sucking his dick is, to put it bluntly, amazing. The sounds he makes, the way his head falls back against the headrest, how his hips thrust push up to meet her lips - she could get off on nothing but a blowjob.

 

Where do you end and I begin? She no longer knows.

 

A particularly loud moan causes her to smirk. "Good as you remembered?" The head of his cock pops out of her mouth with an obscene smack.

 

"Better." He caresses her neck as she eagerly takes him back in. "Fuck."

 

It doesn't take much more before she can feel him tighten his fingers in her hair, pushing deeper into her mouth. He shouts unintelligibly as the spurts of hot come gush over her tongue, salty and musky as she obediently swallows every drop. When the tension in his muscles finally banks and he relaxes, she sits back on her knees, licking her lips.

 

A tired, blissful smile crosses his face as he gazes at her under half-lidded eyes. They stare at each other for several moments that stretch on and on and on.

 

He's wrought iron, unbreakable and impervious. In all the years she's known him, nothing has ever succeeded in proving him otherwise. Nothing. At his mother's funeral, the sixteen-year-old had thrown a white rose into the six-foot wound in the earth and never looked back. He has razed and killed but under all those ashes...is it too much to hope that there's anything left?

 

Erin doesn't believe in much, doesn't place bets unless she knows the odds. But she would put everything she owns, everything she holds close, on Jem.

 

"Come with me," he says suddenly.

 

There's no hesitation. "Okay." Anywhere he's going, she'll gladly follow.

 

They roll the windows all the way down. Erin's wavy chestnut locks fly about in the humid breeze, and her damp skin sticks to the hot leather of his seats. Jem makes a sharp right and the engine purrs as they race up the on-ramp. He pilots the Charger smoothly, weaving through the traffic like he and the car were one. His eyes never leave the road, except once to catch a healthy glance down her dress with a smirk.

 

Indulgently, Erin rests her head against the seat and closes her eyes. Could I just freeze this moment and lock it away, somewhere? I never want this to fade away.

 

When she opens her eyes, it's to the sound of the first few riffs of "House of the Rising Sun." The notes wash over her, settling like autumn leaves over the grass.

 

"Didn't figure you for a classics fan," she teased lightly.

 

He raised an eyebrow. "Think you got me all figured out, do ya?"

 

"Wouldn't dream of it," she replied.

 

***

 

The drive is smooth and effortless and Erin would be content to do nothing but watch Jem's powerful hands grip the steering wheel, guiding the car like it's second nature. She's almost sorry when they reach the end of a bumpy, mostly gravel road, hidden by thick foliage, and he cuts the engine.

 

Unbuckling her seat belt, she glances suspiciously at Jem, who just gives her a mildly offended look. "You blame me for wantin' to get you alone?"

 

Erin balks. "Alone? Or completely isolated?"

 

He only smirks in reply. Ahead of them lay an expanse of shoreline, untended and wild. Not a cottage or any sign of life in sight. It's tranquil and peaceful and she wonders how such a prime piece of real estate isn't packed to the brim with summer homes and vacationers; she says so aloud.

 

"Privately owned," he responds cryptically, which tells her all she needs to know.

 

It's dead silent outside, save for the chorus of crickets and the lap of waves against the sandy beach. He grabs her hips, throws her on the hood of the car and goes down on her until she's breaking apart. It's a heady experience, crying out his name into the open air as she trembles against him.

 

Even before she's fully come down from the high, his jeans are at his knees and he's rolling a condom onto himself. He sinks into her with a groan and doesn't stop until he bottoms out inside her. "Can't get enough," he pants, reveling in the satin sheath of her drenched pussy.

 

It's slow and delicious, the way he fucks her under the night sky, him above her and warm steel below her. They take their time, drawing out each thrust and when they reach the peak, they tumble over the edge together. As if they are one and the same.

 

They lie side by side against the now-cool metal. Her mind drifts back to the blue and red flash of cop lights and a brief, mysterious message on her phone that morning. "You ever gonna tell me the answer to your riddle?"

 

He sighs in resignation. "Never stop askin' questions, do ya?" She doesn't answer, just waits him out. "You know how much crazy shit goes on in the Town. Ain't always sunshine and roses out there."

 

It's a flimsy attempt and he can sense that she's about to protest. "Leave it alone," he growls.

 

She does. For now.

 

*          *          *

 

Erin’s lucky that she tans easily for a pureblood Irish, or she’d be burned to a crisp by now. The June sun beats down relentlessly on her and the other attendees of Dougie and Jem’s latest barbecue; the combination of Miller Lite and the persistent, suffocating heat make for a tamer atmosphere than usual.

 

She wears a pale pink sundress, forgoing a bra in favor of fewer layers of fabric. The picnic table is lined with several older girls and at the other end are Doug, Gloansy and Jem at the grill, tending to group of sizzling burgers.

 

They don’t speak much, and while most girls would find that unacceptable given recent events, Erin’s content to just casually observe from a distance. It reminds her of high school when she’d pine away hopelessly for the utmost in unattainable crushes. But then she remembers the feel of his tongue inside her and the look on his face when he comes, and it’s nothing at all like before.

 

“Hey. Hey, you. Erin?”

 

She turns toward the voice, which belongs to none other than Krista Coughlin, Jem’s train-wreck of a sister. “Yeah?”

 

Krista shoots her a mischievous look. “Don’t know if you noticed, sweetheart, but baby McGowan over there’s been givin’ ya the eye all day. Why don’t ya go over there and put the kid out of his misery?” She nods towards a tall, lanky boy towards the corner of the yard, another of the older guys’ younger brothers who runs with the same crowd. Sure enough, he meets her eyes for only the briefest of seconds before turning away sheepishly.

 

Erin assesses Krista critically for a moment. Despite her history of exceptionally bad decisions, she’s not a mean-spirited person, and probably thinks she’s just playing Town matchmaker. “Uh, I’m-I’m good. I’m actually…seeing someone already.”

 

She’s got everyone’s attention now. Especially Jem, whose only tell is the whitening of his knuckles around his beer bottle. He plays it off, continuing his conversation with Doug, but that muscle in his jaw clenches and she knows he’s listening. Intently.

 

The group of girls all coo with interest. “Oh, yeah? Why you ain’t bringin’ him around? He from that fancy school in New York?” Krista prods.

 

“Uh,” she stalls. “No. Um. I’ll…be right back.” She bolts for the door and disappears into the kitchen.

 

It’s cooler inside, and Erin’s grateful for the escape. She's down the hall and nearly to the bathroom when a vise-like grip closes around her wrist.

 

“Someone’s in a hurry.” Jem yanks on her arm and pulls her to him.

 

She nods uncomfortably. “I just…had to get away for a minute.”

 

“What, you gonna powder your nose so you can go talk to that skinny motherfucker who’s been starin’ at your tits all day?” He’s giving her that rakish grin but his words suddenly light a spark in her blood. 

“Is it fucking funny to you that I don’t know what the hell’s going on with…whatever this is? That I’m acting like we’re some dirty little secret? I don’t know what to do, I don’t know how to act. I’m so confused.” Her face falls as a particularly abhorrent thought dawns on her. “Are you…do you not want to be seen with me?”

 

Rage flashes in his eyes as he grabs her shoulders and squeezes, hard. But there’s conflict on his face, frustration that they both share. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talkin’ about. There’s…reasons.” His eyes dart around erratically before dragging her into the bathroom and shutting the door.

 

“Reasons? Fine. Then just tell me,” she continues, the anger and confusion burning white-hot in her veins. “You fuck me and you hold me and you tell me not to leave my house on the exact same day there’s a fucking armed robbery across from my work. You can’t expect me not to–“

 

He cuts her off sharply with his lips on hers. It’s like a match on gasoline – she instantly responds, wrapping her arms around his neck and her legs about his hips. This. This is the only thing in this entire fucked situation that makes sense.

 

The bathroom door flies open, hitting the opposite wall with a thud.

 

“Oh, sorry man, didn’t think anybody was in here–“

 

Both of them, still entangled in each other, whip their heads towards the intruder.

 

It’s Ryan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I have no idea if there are any places along the Harbor that are wilderness-y like I described. Creative liberty? :)


	5. Chapter 5

"Sorry man, I didn't think anybody was..." Erin's blood froze as she watched the realization dawn on her brother's face. Before she can react, even begin to try to explain, he's enraged. "What the fuck is this? James Coughlin, you lousy worthless piece of-"

 

It happens too fast. Jem's forearms flex before he turns and slams his hand around Ryan's throat, the back of her brother's head crashing against the wall with an alarming thud. They hold like that for whole seconds, more heartbeats than Erin can bear to count. His grip trembles.

 

Ryan’s hands fly up to pry off Jem’s iron fingers, struggling wildly. “You fuckin’ bastard,” he inhumanly chokes out, spittle flying and green eyes bulging. “I told you to stay the fuck away from her! Stick your cock in every whore in town, for all I care! All I asked was that you leave her out of it!”

 

Suddenly, Ryan’s dropped like a stone to the floor as Jem storms off without a word.

 

Ryan's cursing and rubbing the back of his head. Still furious, he turns his rage on his baby sister as he shakily gets to his feet. "You fuckin' him, Erin?"

 

She struggles to collect herself, her hands slide into her hair as she pulls at it, hard. "Ryan. Ryan, I know what it looks like, but I promise, I swear to you, that's not what it is-"

 

"Shut up," he whips at her, and she recoils like he slapped her. He paces madly, hands wringing, and she can almost see his thoughts being flung in a million different directions. Finally he cocks his arm back and punches a sizable hole in the aging drywall, sending a cloud of dust billowing into the air. Erin flinches at the ragged sound. "Do you know what he is?" he nearly screams as he turns on her. "Do you?

 

"Fuck you!" she yells back. "You fucking hypocrite, you've been his friend your whole life! Do as I say, not as I do, is that how it is? So it's fine for you but not for me?" By now everybody in a four-block radius is getting an earful.

 

"I ain't the one sucking his dick, you idiot!" He lunges forward, grabs her slender shoulders and shakes her violently. "He will drag you down! He will turn you into a cracked-out whore, knock you up and forget you ever fuckin' existed! You don't think I seen it a million times, Erin? Holy shit, and that ain't even the worst of it! You got no idea what that asshole is capable of!" The rage melts down into something else, an anguish that seems alien on his handsome face. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes. Her big brother. Never in all her life has he ever raised his voice to her. "You are my sister, Erin. My family. You stay the hell away from Jem. You promise me, you understand? You fucking promise me right now."

 

Erin's barely aware of the tears streaming down her cheeks. Hollowly, she shakes her head. It feels as though it's made of iron.

 

Bitter resignation clouds Ryan's face as he drops her shoulders, takes a step backward. Away from her. "Thought you were the smart one," his voice barely a hiss. "I was wrong. The Town got you after all." That last one burns her like the lit end of a cigarette.

 

She doesn't watch as he turns and strides purposefully down the hallway. The screen door slams open and creaks shut. Over the music there are a few shouts and curses, and then the squeal of tires a few moments later. She's alone.

 

Erin somehow stumbles out of the house. With a dazed glance in either direction, she picks the sidewalk to the left, and walks.

 

* * *

 

It would have always ended up this way. As she sets one foot in front of the other, only enough momentum in her to focus on this one small motion, that one small truth burns into her like a cattle brand.

 

Her steps eventually lead her off of the broken sidewalk to a sparse patch of grass. She glances up, surprised to find that she had happened upon the neighborhood playground, a place she’d spent whole summer days and Saturdays as a child. Stayed out until it was brushing twilight and her mother had to drag her home by the arm.

 

It’s a sorry sight today. An utter lack of maintenance had allowed the swingset and jungle gym to rust to the point of being a health hazard. The trees and shrubbery hadn't been tended to in years and grew wild, blocking the entire site from the road. Broken beer bottles and a used condom or two littered the gravel. It made her heart hurt to see the condition of the place. No one’s played here for a long, long time.

 

Numb, she shuffles to the ancient wooden bench facing the dilapidated equipment. She sinks down onto its splintered beams in defeat.

 

She struggles to sort through her own ragged emotions. Ryan had said nothing that she herself hadn't thought on her own at one time or another. Jem's own friends, more trusted and cherished than his blood relatives, knew exactly what he was. Made no attempt to sugarcoat it. But even they had no illusions that he could ever be anything but a loose cannon with a violent streak.

 

Ryan had accused her of being naive to Jem. A month ago, he would have been right. He was a better person than she'd ever thought possible.

 

_Stay inside._

 

His fingers sliding over her belly as he curls himself around her. Protective. Possessive.

 

_You don't need to get mixed up with me._

 

With her head in her hands, she pulls her knees to her chest and waits. For what, she doesn’t know. Or want to know.

 

***

 

It's maybe an hour later that heavy footsteps, soft in the scant grass, approach behind her.

 

Erin stares at the paint peeling from the crisscrossing beams of the jungle gym. Was that the same one she had fallen from and dislocated her shoulder? "You need to tell me the truth. I deserve to know."

 

The sun-bleached wood creaks under the weight of its new occupant. “I’ve never lied to you. Know that.”

 

He talks. She listens. It's not all of it, but she can feel in her bones that there’s no end to the abyss in his heart. He could speak for the rest of his life and never scratch the surface.

 

When it's over, she says nothing for a long time. "Why?"

 

"We been over this. Not all of us can get shipped off to Harvard and turn all high-society," he replies bitterly. He closes his eyes. "I heard what your brother said 'bout me."

 

Her heart catches in her throat. Her pulse pounds a drumroll, each slow beat bringing her a step closer to the coup de grace.

 

"Erin." Every time she hears her name on his lips it makes her shiver. He grabs her shoulders and forces her to meet his eyes. "What the fuck did you think was gonna happen, huh? That I'd just fit all nice and neat into that white-collar tunie life you're makin' for yourself now?

 

"Stop," she pleads. His worst, harsh and blunt, twist into her gut like a knife.

 

"Tell me," he bites off angrily as the passion in his voice ramps up. "You think this was some fairy tale? That I'd suddenly see the error in my ways or some shit? I ain't no law-abiding citizen with a Volvo and a 401k, kid. And you can take that to the fuckin' bank."

 

But not if I get there first, the cruel, steely glint in his eyes says, and her heart splits down the middle. This is the Jem Coughlin of legend. A weapon, every part of him. His body, his mind, his voice. All fine-tuned to destroy.

 

Defiantly she throws his hands off. "Do you really think I care about that? You are who you are, I never asked you for anything different!"

 

"You say that now. You're only thinkin' about today. Tomorrow. Next week. What about ten years from now, when you got a nine-to-five and a mortgage? When you start wantin' babies? Sorry to rain on your parade, but that ain't never gonna be me."

 

The sun is dipping down below the horizon, Boston's skyline silhouetted against the fiery orange. You're not supposed to stare into the sun. Erin fixes her eyes on it. Blind me. I dare you.

 

He shakes his head bitterly. "Shouldn't be surprised," Jem mumbles, more to himself than her. "Should know better. Wantin' things I can't have."

 

Slender fingers inch their way across the space separating them, until they make contact with their rougher counterparts. It's like a dam breaking; once their skin touches he lets out a desperate breath and grabs her.

 

He kisses her hard, bruising, and drags her onto his lap. The wave of emotion brings tears to her eyes as she cups his face in her hands. "You have me," she presses, meaningfully, leaning forward so their foreheads touch. "You have me."

 

An anguished kiss is his reply. But I can't keep you, it says.

 

He's stiff and aching under the coarse denim of his jeans. She grinds down on him, rubbing her clit against the seams as she devours his mouth with hers. The delicate cotton soaks through easily, leaving his fly damp and slick with her juices.

 

Jem pulls back, seeking out her green eyes with his speckled blue ones. "You're fucking beautiful. Don't know if I ever told you that." There's a finality to his words that causes her to choke up, but she swallows it down. If this is the last time, she's not gonna let herself ruin it. The pads of his fingers tug the neckline of her sundress, letting one pink nipple slip free. He pushes her back until his face is even with her chest.

 

His tongue is hot, so hot, followed by the coolness of the air as he swirls it around each rosy tip. She sighs. His mouth is like magic, and she moans openly into the dusky summer evening.

 

Broad hands lift her hips up so she's kneeling astride him. Between her spread thighs, he unbuckles his belt, his jeans coming undone right after. He draws himself out, thick and hard and ready for her.

 

She glances down at him, pupils blown in both of their eyes. He's stroking himself as he stares at her. The question suddenly becomes clear, no words needed.

 

She's never wanted something so much in her life.

 

With a slow, deliberate nod, she hikes her skirt up around her hips as he pushes her panties aside. His jeans slide down to mid-thigh and his cock works its way into her, deep but not deep enough. Never enough.

 

Without the thin barrier of latex between them, she'd never expected how different he would feel. How flesh against flesh truly made her forget that they were two separate people.

 

What part of me will die when you go?

 

Jem gasps unintelligibly, and Erin realizes that she's not the only one who's affected. Her hips seem to roll forward on their own, like ocean waves. He lets out a tortured groan at the sensation flooding through his veins; the finest blow could never compare to this.

 

He will never get her out of his blood. He knows this, now.

 

He sets his jaw and begins to match her pace, fucks her with a rawness that threatens to drown her, consume her until there's nothing left. She comes with a sharp cry under him, and he tries to pull out when he's ready but she draws him closer. Clutches at his shoulders, draws blood at the nape of his neck with her nails. Right over that Fightin' Irish tattoo.

 

He pumps inside her, fills her up as he comes, and squeezes her hips so hard there'll definitely be marks left. Good. She wants him under her skin, etched into her flesh.

 

It's the last time, and as the fog clears there's a quiet, implicit goodbye in every movement. Every gentle brush of his fingers, the silk of their lips together. She commits each and every one to memory.

 

They adjust themselves, and their clothes feel like armor between them. Jem stares at her. His lighthouse. His beacon.

 

I never deserved you.

 

He reaches for her. His phone buzzes loudly. He ignores it but it continues. With a scowl he fishes it from his pocket, and answers. He listens to the caller for a few moments, and then turns slowly toward Erin.

 

And then everything falls apart.

 

***

 

It's my fault.

 

Erin digs her fingers into her palms, tiny bloody crescents that sting her, remind her that she's breathing.

 

He was angry. So angry. He wouldn't have been so distracted if...

 

White walls and shiny lacquered tile. The scratchy fabric of the waiting room chairs. Blankly she registers the faces of her parents. Her mother sobbing wildly into her dad's shoulder as he stares emptily straight ahead. She recognizes the others - a few of Ryan's friends, Doug, Des, a couple she doesn't know. It's surreal, how silent they are.

 

Next to her, crammed into his own wildly uncomfortable chair, is Jem. I don't want your pity, she thinks. But he offers no consolation. No empty assurances. He merely sits, elbows resting on his knees, and studies the cheap tile floor. She's too ravaged to resist the comfort that his presence brings.

 

He had rushed her to his car after the call came in. They had passed the scene of the crash just in time to see the mangled remains of Ryan's truck being towed away. She remembers nothing of the harried drive except the roar of her own heartbeat in her ears.

 

It's another hour before a doctor finally emerges from the heavy, remote-locked double doors. Everyone startles. The doctor, face drawn and weary, pulls down the paper mask covering his mouth and nose. "I need to speak with Mr. Connelly's parents, or immediate family, please?"

 

Erin's mother and father stand, the effort of the movement nearly overwhelming them. Her mouth falls open slightly in shock. When did they get so old? The wrinkles around her mother's eyes. The skin on the back of her dad's hand, papery and sprinkled with a smattering of brown spots. In that moment she’s six years old, and eleven, and sixteen. It’s yesterday and ten years ago and five seconds from now; the time whips around her like a hurricane.

 

Hysteria bubbles close to the surface. Her fingers grip the varnished wood armrest of the chair, knuckles bone-white.

 

Somehow she climbs to her feet and staggers across the room to stand beside her parents. A united front; against what?

 

The doctor speaks softly and with little inflection. He’s done this many, many times. Erin doesn't try to decipher the slew of medical jargon and only catches snippets, phrases like "internal bleeding," and "significant cranial trauma."

 

When he's finished, no one dares speak for several long moments.

 

Mrs. Connelly's voice was frail as she spoke. "Is he...?"

 

"I don't know. It's too soon to tell." He proceeds to inform them that her brother is stable, with the help of an artificial lung, but was placed in a drug-induced coma.

 

She doesn't hear much after that.

 

Eventually they allow her and her parents into the ER to see him. Erin nearly vomits at the sight; under the mess of tubes and plastic and gauze she barely recognizes her own brother.

 

They're provided with hard plastic chairs. Erin could've been given a bed of nails for all she noticed. She pushes hers as close to Ryan's side as she can get amid the equipment and machines, and takes his fingers in her hand. They're limp, but warm, and surprisingly unscathed. Guilt wracks her body so strongly she trembles.

 

I could apologize until I my last breath, and it would never be enough.

 

She stays until her head drops onto the thin white sheet and her breathing slows, evens out. Maybe she will remember being carried down the long, antiseptic corridors of Mass General, the scent of Old Spice and whiskey wrapped around her like a warm blanket. Maybe she won't.

 

***

 

Erin is gently jarred awake when a pair of powerful arms sets her down on her own bedspread, and she's so tired that she practically melts into the mattress. Heavy, shuffling footsteps draw her further out of sleep. She blinks into the pale, blue-toned moonlight and recognizes the broad shoulders and stocky build in the silhouette.

 

"Jem. Um, thank you."

 

Slowly, the smooth muscled panes of his back flexing as his fists curl, he turns to face her. She's never seen him so weary.

 

In a few short strides he's at her bedside, the mattress dipping where he perches. Her eyes are drawn to his hands, long blunt fingers fidgeting. What have those hands done? Killed, stolen, wrought destruction for no other reason than because they could. But they've carried her. Strummed her body like a well-loved guitar. Reached for her, protected her.

 

"Y'know," he begins solemnly, "you're the only person who never looked at me like I'm some kinda scum."

 

"Because you're not," she replies softly, without hesitation.

 

He gives a short, mirthless laugh. "And see, right there? When you say it? I almost believe you." Before she can protest, he continues. "I never had no problem with it. Is what it is. Then you come along, and everything goes ass-up." He offers her a weak smile, which she returns tentatively.

 

A heavy silence settles between them like a fog. Jem's eyes pass over the walls of her room, and she realizes it's the first time he's seen it. He pats her hand with his much larger one. "Get some sleep."

 

As he rises from her bed, Erin catches his fingers with hers. "Stay?"

 

Jem stays stock-still for a beat or two. Then he tugs his t-shirt over his head, kicks off his shoes and jeans into a puddle on the scuffed hardwood. In just his boxers, the silvery moonlight streaming through the open window, he seems otherworldly.

 

She scoots over to make room for his compact but stocky frame. The familiar curve of his body fits around her, his front to her back. His warm breath blows gently on the nape of her neck as sleep overtakes them.

 

***

 

It's barely past seven when she rouses from a coma-like state, the events of the previous night having drained her dry. She stretches her legs; that she can do it without any obstacle makes her suddenly aware that she's alone. With a heavy heart she glances at the floor. Nothing but her discarded sandals and a wayward hair tie.

 

One leg, then the other swings over the edge of her rumpled bed. His smell lingers in the humid morning air.

 

"You got coffee?"

 

She snaps her head up in alarm, and an unnameable feeling floods her chest. That accent. She had it too, but it'd never sound so good coming out of anyone's mouth but his.

 

She manages a smile. "Yeah."

 

***

 

For a week, she falls asleep folded away safely in Jem's steel trap arms. Each morning, she awakes, expecting to find him gone and the house empty. The first time, she stumbles into the living room to discover him out cold in her dad's favorite chair, mouth open, snoring loud enough to wake the dead. The second time, he's sprawled out on the couch, his muscular arms wrapped around her mom's throw pillow.

 

Over the next few days, her parents come home intermittently, mostly to shower and change clothes. If they notice Jem, they don't say anything.

 

He stays. Sometimes he’d leave, and then return a few hours later, in clean clothes and smelling of soap and aftershave. But he was always back before sundown.

 

Finally the phone call comes. Ryan is stable enough to regain consciousness; Erin's so relieved she breaks down in tears.

 

The ride to the hospital is tense with anticipation and a certain pang of dread. As she and Jem approach the door to Ryan's room, her grip on his hand tightens.

 

It all breaks like a dam the moment they step inside. Once she lays eyes on her brother, bruised and weak but alive, blinking and breathing and lifting his hand to greet her, she practically throws herself on the motorized bed. "Whoa, whoa. Easy there, kiddo," he croaks out. "I ain't good as new just yet."

 

She dutifully backs off. Ryan's smile is tired and his lips dry and cracked. He notices Jem standing a few feet behind his sister, though, and he falters. "Hey." Jem just nods in reply.

 

Erin's eyes tick back and forth between the two, and conveniently excuses herself to go get a drink, and offers to get Ryan some water. She disappears into the hallway. Left alone, Ryan and Jem regard each other awkwardly.

 

Ryan throws the first punch, so to speak. "I'd say I'm sorry, but you and I both know I ain't gonna mean it."

 

Jem sprawls out in the molded plastic chair beside Ryan's bed. "Yeah, well. I ain't holdin' it against ya."

 

With labored breath, Ryan wheezes out, "Better not. Lucky to be alive, they sayin'. Coulda had my brains splattered out all over Bunker Hill Road."

 

"Nah. Gotta have a brain first." Jem smirks at him, an olive branch, a peace offering. They glance tentatively at each other. It's a foreign feeling, the sense of betrayal between the lifelong friends, and neither of them know how to confront it.

 

Ryan studies him intently as Jem shifts in the perpetually uncomfortable seat. The shiny plastic is a hideous shade of muddy orange that's probably been in this room since 1975.

 

A few rigid, charged moments pass in silence. Jem is beginning to tire of avoiding the elephant in the room, and decides it's time to cut his losses. "Uh," he begins as he gets to his feet, the creaky chair groaning in protest, "I'm gonna go take a walk. You...feel better." It's a weak, cowardly cop-out, but he's beyond caring.

 

Jem's nearly to the door when Ryan's raspy voice croaks out, "My ma said you been stayin' at the house. That true?"

 

He freezes in his tracks, and he can literally feel his heart rate begin to spike. "Fuck you-"

 

"Will you just shut up a second? Jesus fuckin' Christ. I ain't gonna bust your balls. Not now, at least." Ryan grimaces in pain at the exertion and takes a deep, calming breath. "Ma says you been there since...all this happened. Watchin' over Erin and shit, so she don't gotta be alone. Now, I ain't no genius but that don't sound to me like no pump an' dump." He eyes Jem carefully, as if daring him to say otherwise.

 

He doesn't take the bait. The older man stands, grips the bed rail in his sinewy hands. "You got somethin' to say, Connelly, just fuckin' say it."

 

"Oh, I got somethin' to say. Lot of 'em. Like if you're boning my sister just for shits and giggles you better pray to God himself that I ain't never gettin' out of this bed. 'Cause I will fucking end you. Got it?"

 

Jem says nothing. Just keeps that even, unnerving gaze straight on Ryan's battered face. "But see, I don't think that it. I don't know what the fuck it is you two are up to, but it's got you both sprung."

 

Jem seems to consider Ryan's words as he squeezes the rail so hard his knuckles turn paper-white. "I told her to stay away," he says quietly.

 

"Yeah. She's stubborn."

 

"Like her brother," Jem shoots back.

 

"Could be worse. Look, I ain't her babysitter, 'kay? But I'm telling you - either do this, or don't. She ain't no townie bar-slut who'll bang anybody to score a gram, so if you treat her like one you and I are gonna have some real fuckin' problems. Cut her loose now, or man up."

 

Erin reappears in the doorway, backlit by the sallow fluorescent glow of the hallway. She smiles tentatively at the most important man in her life, aside from her dad, and at the other, who was rapidly creeping up the list. Jem nods at Ryan, who weakly raises a couple fingers in return, then turns and brushes past Erin as he leaves.

 

Erin throws Ryan a suspicious look. "What did you say to him?"

 

"Somethin' he needed to hear. I’m your brother, kid. Don’t expect me to sit by with my thumb up my ass.”

 

She stepped closer to Ryan’s bedside, a sad smile on her face as her shoulders drop. “Causin’ trouble, even when you’re laid up. You _are_ my brother.” She reaches through the tubes taped to his arms and clasps her fingers in his. “Try not to do anything like this again, okay? You…scared us. Bad.”

 

“Gotta keep things interesting somehow, right?” She rolls her eyes. “Go on. I ain’t goin’ nowhere, not with that Nazi of a nurse they got me with. Go.”

 

***

 

The day’s mugginess had evolved into a heavy rain. Erin found Jem leaning on the brick pillars just outside the doors to the ER, smoking.

 

Her heart’s pounding, not much unlike that first night when she approached him like she would a wild animal. She studies his profile. Strong nose, those crystal-blue eyes speckled with green and gold, that jaw with the muscle that flexed when he was angry. He looks no different than a month ago.

 

But then he turns. And those blue-green-gold eyes find hers. And nothing is the same.

 

“Waiting for someone?” she asks.

 

He encircles her tiny hand in his, grasping tightly. “Not anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, man. I can't believe this ride's finally come to an end. Thanks for sticking with me this long, folks. Really hope you enjoyed reading as much as I enjoyed writing. Not gonna lie - this chapter gutted me over and over again, so having it done kinda feels like cauterizing a wound. Haha. I'm so dramatic. 
> 
> Anyway, there will be one outtake I'm gonna write and post in a few days (or, after I emotionally recover from this a little). Reviews & feedback are always appreciated. Thank you!


	6. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Erin's been back at school for a long fall semester.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to badcircuit, missm0neypenny & eternaldcgirl for your nonstop cheerleading!
> 
> Just to warn - the end is pretty explicit. Like, porn-grade explicit. I don't foresee a lot of complaints, but ya never know ;)

   
  
With various sighs of relief and not a small amount of joy, Erin and her three classmates deflate as though there were strings holding them up that had been cut. Erin glances at the clock on her laptop - 4:57. They'd barely made the deadline but they'd made it, all the same.

Alison, their group leader, had been the one to do the honor of actually submitting their final project. With a flourish she’d clicked the send button on her e-mail, and it struck Erin how hours of research and plain old hard work could be reduced to two small icons. Bits of code, floating around in cyberspace. She shrugs, packing up her things. It was an added bonus that the project was due on a Friday - she didn't have any plans for the evening, but that was okay with her. Not atypical by any means.  
  
The chatter amongst her group begins to rise in pitch as they excitedly name party after party they'd be attending, now that the chains were cut. Erin had been absent when they'd selected their groups, and as a result got lumped in with The Plastics, as she'd affectionately dubbed them in her head. Nice enough, but hopelessly vapid and absolutely drenched in money.  
  
A pretty brunette named Lauren, who'd been the friendliest of all the girls in Erin's group, twitters away a mile a minute about her boyfriend, who's visiting for the weekend.  
  
"Well, I don't know about you guys but if I have to spend one more minute in this place I'm gonna break out in hives," Madeline, a smart-mouthed blonde from Great Neck, declares dryly. "I say we get the weekend started now. Any takers?"  
  
The others agree easily, and it's only a few moments before they'd made it halfway to the heavy oak doors that separate the library from the chilly December air. Suddenly, Madeline stops in her tracks. "Wait."  
  
Erin is still stuffing piles of notes and her bulky laptop into her bag when she catches sight of a pair of expensive boots in her periphery. "Hi."  
  
She shoots the taller girl a confused look. "Forget something?"  
  
"Yeah. You. Got any plans like, I don't know, right now?"  
  
Apprehensively Erin shakes her head.  
  
"Good. You're coming with us."  
  
***  
  
It's a Friday, and Erin's group isn't the only one with happy hour in mind. The bar of choice is a college watering hole that's patronized by both students and a good number of locals. The closest thing to a dive for miles around, it still stank of affluence.  
  
Erin's new friends, though that term could be used only very loosely, are fascinated by her humble upbringing, and a little disappointed that she doesn't have more wild stories to share. She's the definition of well-behaved, while they all have stories about sneaking out and parties they threw while their parents were off vacationing in Europe.  
  
The bartender, a good-looking kid, drops off a beer at their table, right in front of Erin. "From that guy over there." He raises his eyebrows, as if to say he ain't from around here, and nods towards the bar. The other girls snicker and exchange lewd comments as Erin turns to locate her benefactor. Her heart leaps.  
  
Jem Coughlin is perched on a barstool, although sprawled is probably a better word. The man owns everything he touches, including Erin's traitorous body. It's been a month since she's last seen him. The flurry of finals and projects and papers has left her with little time for anything else. She drinks in the sight of him, and lets out a long, slow breath. All roughneck bad boy charm, laced with danger. She'd throw him down on the bar and ride him like she's in a fucking rodeo, if it wouldn't get them tossed out.  
  
Aw, hell. Maybe she would anyway.  
  
He's smirking at her unabashedly, one hand curled around his half-full pint glass, and the other resting casually on the leather backrest of his barstool.  
  
She bites her lip shyly and drops her eyes to the scuffed tabletop in front of her. She's lit up like Times Square at Christmas, that's how effortless it is for him to have her at his mercy.  
  
"Do you know that guy?" Alison asks, her tone scandalized. He's wearing a flannel shirt and his black leather jacket, worn jeans and one of his many pairs of Nikes. Decidedly not very Westchester County.  
  
Erin opens her mouth to reply, but Jem chooses that moment to take a long, lazy sip of his beer. Holy shit. Those veins. The ones in his neck, like a roadmap leading under his collar and further down-  
  
Suddenly, the answer hits her. She picks up her frosty glass, throws back a third of the icy-cold brew, and puts on her best doe eyes.  
  
Jem Coughlin. I've waited a month. I can wait a little longer.  
  
She sets her beer down, never breaking his gaze. "Never seen him before in my life."  
  
***  
  
Jem leans back in his seat, a mischievous smile on his rugged face as he catches snippets of the girls' conversation. He knows he sticks out like a sore thumb in this white-bread suburb where every other car on the road is a Benz. Doesn't give a shit. Got more cash hidden away than all these fuckers put together.  
  
The bartender keeps giving Jem the eye every time he passes, like he's expecting Jem to pull out a 9-mil and order him to empty the cash register.  
  
He ain't wrong, he chuckles to himself. At least about the nine. But that'll stay tucked away, nestled between his skin and the waistband of his jeans. Not after money. Not today.  
  
Today, he's got something even more valuable on his mind.  
  
She looks good enough to eat, fresh-faced and sweet and innocent. He knows better, though. He knows how she sounds when she comes, shuddering against his tongue or wrapped around his cock. Shit. He's poppin' one just thinking about it.  
  
He shifts in his seat, tugging his jeans away from where they're getting uncomfortably tight in the front.  
  
A month was just too long. When they spent the summer exploring this new, fragile thing they'd discovered, barely able to keep their hands off each other, it was like a void was filled that Jem never realized was there.  
  
It isn’t perfect. Their differences are a gulf between them that they build one tenuous bridge across at a time. Ryan, while he more or less gave them his blessing, still seems like he's just waiting for Jem to fuck up. Krista hadn't taken too kindly to them, either.  
  
He's brought back to Earth when the bartender approaches him warily. "Another?"  
  
Jem nods, and tosses a few bills down on the lacquered wood.  
  
"Hey."  
  
The bartender whips his head around.  
  
Jem throws down another couple bills. Fuckin' New Yorkers and their overpriced shit. "Keep 'em comin' for the lady, too."  
  
***  
  
When the second beer arrives just as unexpectedly as the first, Erin's eyebrows shoot up. Persistent little bastard.  
  
"Oh my God," Lauren admonishes. "He's like, old!"  
  
"Who cares?" Madeline shoots back. "He's hot."  
  
Erin grabs the pint glass, slick with condensation, and drains the entire thing in one long gulp.  
  
"Guess I better go thank him properly." The empty glass hits the varnished wood with a clink. The other girls' jaws gape open.  
  
Erin hops down from her barstool, eyes fixed on the broad expanse of leather-clad back that’s sitting only a few yards away.  
  
 _You wanna play, Mr. Coughlin?_  
  
Game on.  
  
***  
  
He knows she's there long before she slides easily onto the stool next to his. Keeping his eyes fixed on the Giants game playing on the flat screen, he takes a generous swig of his Guinness. She says nothing. Fine. He'll wait her out.  
  
She raises her hand casually to the bartender, who practically stumbles over himself to get to her. Jem snorts. Just let this silver-spoon little fuck try to make a play for his girl. He's been lookin' for a good punching bag lately.  
  
Erin hands over cash for her beer, paying Jem no mind the entire time, even as the undeniable tension builds between them. She's so close he can smell her fruity shampoo, watch the rise and fall of her chest. He has to physically work to stop himself from throwing her over his shoulder and tossing her down on the nearest available surface.  
  
"You got some bold moves," she comments lightly. Casually, like she had drinks bought and hand-delivered to her all the time. "They work on all the girls?" She keeps her eyes firmly rooted to where her fingers are worrying the edge of a bar napkin.  
  
"You're sittin' here, ain't ya?"  
  
She purses her lips, hiding a smile. Acknowledges that he won that one. "Maybe I just wanted to see you up close." She feels the magnetic pull of his body, so achingly close to hers that she can barely stand it. He isn't  immune either - although he's a master at the cool exterior, better than anyone else she knows, he has his tells. Pupils so large his eyes are nearly engulfed by them. Breathing even but too controlled to be normal. Fingers that clenched and unclenched involuntarily - they all belie his devil-may-care attitude.  
  
"Well," he smirks, "what's the verdict? Better from a distance?" He angles himself toward her, those steel-trap arms spread wide, inviting her to ogle.  
  
She does. Shrugs, just to throw a little more fuel on the rapidly-growing fire.  
  
"Maybe ya should come a little closer. Y'know, in case ya didn't get a good enough look." Obediently Erin leans in, inhaling the intoxicating scent that's purely Jem. Her lips fall open as one calloused finger slips under the hem of her sweater, caressing the tender skin below her belly button. She shivers.  
  
"Yeah. You're right," she manages to squeak out. "Definitely need to...be sure." Dizzy with lust, she lays a hand on his thigh and he twitches minutely.  
  
She tries, she really does, to talk herself out of just throwing a leg over his lap and riding him into oblivion right here and now. But even she only has so much willpower. The finger that's teasing her belly dips under the waist of her jeans, and -  
  
Suddenly, the sharp tinkling of shattering glass tears them rudely from their reverie. Their heads shoot up towards the sound.  
  
Erin's eyes meet the bartender's for a fleeting second before darting away in search of a broom. He fumbles around before sweeping together the remnants of a highball.  
  
It doesn't go unnoticed by Jem. Like everything he considers his, he's hypervigilant where Erin's concerned. "That your boyfriend?" he teases, smiling amusedly.  
  
"No," she replies, shaking her head.  
  
He leans toward her, his lips dangerously close to her ear. "Does he know that? Don't know if you noticed, sweetheart, but I think somebody's got a crush," he whispers conspiratorially. She raises her eyebrows skeptically, and he nods towards the bartender. The pale, dark-haired kid, hardly much older than herself, startles when she turns those piercing, jade-green eyes his way. He busies himself drying a rack of bar glasses that have been set down nearby.  
  
She shook her head. "Not my type."  
  
"No? Nice girl like you?"  
  
She doesn't respond for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "Where I'm from, if I brought a boy like that home to meet the family, they'd kick me out of the house."  
  
Jem actually laughs aloud at that. "Sounds like my kinda place."  
  
"Charlestown. It's in Massachusetts. Maybe you've heard of it?"  
  
The look they exchange is so charged, so full of unspoken everything that the place could have gone up in flames with the spark. "Sounds familiar," he answers quietly.  
  
From behind Erin a particularly loud giggle rings through the now-bustling bar. She glances over her shoulder at the trio of perfectly coiffed and manicured girls who had materialized behind her, designer bags in hand. "Hey," chirped Lauren. "We're gonna get going. Are you...?" Her ocean-blue eyes tick back and forth between the unlikely pair.  
  
Erin pretends to mull over the decision, when in reality she wasn't moving an inch unless it was with Jem. "You know, you guys go on." Out of the corner of her eye she catches Jem watching her closely. "I'm gonna find my own way back." One slender hand slides higher up Jem's thigh possessively.  
  
Madeline's jaw actually drops, while the other two pitifully try to hide their shocked, scandalized expressions. They tug each other toward the door, whispering excitedly.  
  
Satisfied, Erin turns her attention back to Jem. "Well, stranger. You got somewhere to be?"  
  
He just grins.  
  
She makes a beeline for her abandoned table, where her bag still waits. As she slips it over her shoulder, an insistent hand clamps down on her forearm. She can't help the smile that spreads across her face. "Keep your pants on, buddy-"  
  
A pair of alarmed eyes, most definitely not Jem's, bores into hers. The bartender. Frozen, Erin just stares back.  
  
"You can't go with that guy." His voice nearly cracks with the weight of his urgency.  
  
"Excuse me?" Still taken aback, she can do little more than gape.  
  
"That guy. He...he showed up in here and all he cared about was watching you. Something doesn't sit right about him. He's crazy or something, dangerous, I don't know, but he's bad news."  
  
She has to really work to fight the urge to laugh. Story of my life, right? Not unkindly, she pulls her arm free of his grasp and puts on a look that's pure mischief. "You're right."  
  
She tries not to enjoy watching the blood drain from the kid's skinny face too much. He means well.  
  
"He is."  
  
***  
  
To their credit, they made it out of the bar before succumbing to the unbearable sexual tension they'd been marinating in all evening. They even got as far as the alley next door.  
  
Jem grabs Erin's hips and shoves her hard against the cold brick, lips attacking any exposed skin he can reach. "Bad, bad girl, teasin' like that," he breathes into her neck.  
  
Erin lets her head tilt back, resting against the wall, as he trails hot kisses down her throat. She's so lit up she comes up empty for a glib response. "Fuck. Serves you right for following me. Not telling me you're coming, just showing up like that-"  
  
She feels him grin, warm breath humid against her. "Surprise," he rumbles smugly.  
  
Her hands slide up under his shirt, reveling in the hard muscle and taut skin she finds there. His body amazes her every single time they come together. Forged and hewn and carved. Not a single scar or flaw that she would change.  
  
He tugs down the neckline of her sweater and buries his face in the valley between her tits, stubble scraping her sensitive flesh. The attention he lavishes on them, how he gives equally to each one - she can tell this has been on his mind for some time.  
  
She opens her mouth to tell him so, but catches a glimpse across the snowy street at two stunned faces. Two girls from her Intro to Music History class stare incredulously at the sex-with-clothes that's taking place right before their very eyes. Instead of blushing, Erin just smiles sheepishly.  
  
"This'll be all over the dorm by tomorrow morning." Jem's head dips even lower, pulling one stiff nipple into his mouth as she moans her approval. God, that tongue. She imagines it between her legs and her knees nearly buckle.  
  
She feels him laugh against her. "Let's give 'em a good show, then."  
  
The mere thought of having Jem take her against the wall, right in the middle of town, onlookers be damned? "Enticing" doesn't even begin to describe it.  
  
"Oh God. Believe me, I'd love nothing more - oh, fuck, just like that, please - but if I get kicked out of school-"  
  
"Don't see no teachers around."  
  
"Holy shit, that's amazing. No, I mean - if someone sees us it could get, um, oh my God, yes, I mean, it could get awkward for me. At school." Where did he learn to do that? Never mind. She doesn't care.  
  
He releases her nipple with a gentle pop. "Fine," he acquiesces with a smirk. "We let everybody go on believin' you ain't been corrupted. What's in it for me?"  
  
The sparkle in his eye makes her blood race. She stares him down hungrily. "Thought you'd never ask."  
  
***  
  
The rear door to Jem's Charger flings open and they tumble inside in a mess of limbs. It's now that they really let loose on each other - night after night with their memories only a meager substitute for the real thing, it all rushes out at once. Lips crash together, interrupted only to pull a shirt off or tug jeans down.  
  
Erin sighs as she straddles Jem's naked hips, his fingers teasing at the wet heat between her legs. "You miss me?" His voice is low and coarse with need.  
  
Sweaty and panting despite the wintry temperature outside, she nods. He pushes one long, blunt finger inside, pleased at the wild moan he draws out of her. "You know that I did."  
  
He sinks another one in, pumping slowly. Her hips roll involuntarily. "That's my girl."  
  
His thumb slides forward to press against her clit and a fresh wave of lust races through her veins, starting at her pussy and radiating out in hot pulses. Slow circles first, then gradually faster as he drives her closer and closer to the edge. It's gonna hit her hard, she can feel it, but she wants something else even more than she wants to come all over his fingers.  
  
"Stop." The motion ceases, and with a gasp she lifts her hips. His fingers, slick and warm, slip out.  
  
"What?" It's not a protest.  
  
Her hand slips down between them, wraps around his length. The skin is smooth and taut over the rigid flesh. She gazes at him while she pumps him once, twice; watches his eyes glaze over and his jaw go slack.  
  
"I want." Everything. It's a word they don't say. There are no promises and no absolutes in their world.  
  
But tonight. Tonight, they're together and wrapped around each other and it's so much more than enough.  
  
"What? What do you want?" Jem grabs her ass and squeezes hard, making her squeak.  
  
Erin doesn't answer, just pushes up onto her knees and lowers herself down, guiding him inside with her hand.  
  
And winces. It's been a month, and he's so fucking _thick_. She can’t help but whimper as she takes him in, stretching her in ways that toe the line between pain and pleasure. She’s wet enough where there’s little resistance. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. “You can take it.”

 

She nods. Finally the last inch between them disappears, and the wiry hair surrounding his cock tickles against her bare pussy. “Fuck,” he groans. “So tight. You stay so fucking tight for me, that’s my good girl.” His hips thrust upwards, bottoming out into her.

 

God, this feels so good. She clenches down on him, smiling in satisfaction as he grips her ass harder and moans. His hair is sweaty and damp as her fingers wrap around the nape of his neck. So good.

 

She fucks him, feeling powerful, like a goddess on high as she rolls her hips on his. A glance down sends a thrill through her, as she watches the lips of her pussy grip his massive cock. Her eyes travel upward. The cut abs, powerful shoulders, those arms covered in rippling tattoos – she was a lucky girl.  

 

As their pace picks up, growing more and more desperate, she can feel the beginnings of her orgasm creeping in around the edges. Wildly she grabs his shoulders and rushes headlong into it, letting the blissful tightening rack her body with waves of pleasure. She cries out, a mix of curses and moans and Jem’s name.

 

When she opens her eyes, he’s staring at her with something like wonder. “Beautiful,” he rasps out. “Watchin’ you come all over my dick.”

 

She manages a smile. “Your turn.”

 

“Is that right?” Smug bastard.

 

“I want you to come inside me,” she spills out. “Blow your load and watch it leak out of my pussy when we’re done.” Whoa. She was much more forward now than she was a year ago, but she’s surprised herself with this one.

 

Did she want his baby? She’ll never admit it to anyone. But that’s a story for another day.

 

Jem’s eyes widen at her confession, but recovers lightning-fast. “Yes ma’am,” he agrees with a grin, and takes over with deep, almost punishing thrusts. He slams into her with nearly bruising force.

 

“Fuck. Gonna fill you up, baby. Fill you with my come. You ready?” he pants.

 

“Yes. Please. Do it,” she urges, and moments later he lets out a guttural cry, burying his pulsing cock inside her. She could feel it, him coating her insides with his seed. The thought is so intoxicating that she herself comes again, milking every last drop out of him.

 

They collapse against each other, foreheads touching, as they gradually emerge from the sex-haze. A minute, or an hour later, he tilts his head back and smirks at her from under his thick, sooty lashes. “What ya think, kiddo? Worth the gossip?”

 

She grins. “Definitely.”  
  
 


End file.
